


Every Ounce Of Your Bright Blood [Hiatus]

by EverlivingGhosts



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Romance, Tentacles, Violence, cecilos - Freeform, kidknapping, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 59,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverlivingGhosts/pseuds/EverlivingGhosts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Cecil and Carlos, life in Night Vale seems unusually wonderful, idyllic even. But when Station Management slips an ominous letter underneath that fearsome door, their safe little word comes crashing down around their feet. Carlos is in mortal danger, and Station Management is whispering through the walls. How will Cecil choose between his duty towards Night Vale and his love for Carlos?</p><p>Sinister forces are at work, with even worse consequences.</p><p>A tale of love, kidknap and perfect hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this fic for quite a while now, stressing out and re-reading it until I just decided I should post it because I feel like it's time now. I'm a bit nervous because this is the first time I've attempted writing a long Welcome to Night Vale story, especially one with an actual plot, but please enjoy! 
> 
> The time frame of this fic is admittedly a little vague, but it is set a few months after the First Date, not including the most recent episodes. I am not sure of the frequency of updates, as I am aiming for quality over quantity, but I shall try my best and I hope you'll have as much fun reading it as I have writing it!
> 
> The story is un-beta'd as of yet, so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes; they will be ironed out in the future when I find the pesky things!
> 
> Ask me anything on my tumblr, http://thehappygnome.tumblr.com - I would love to speak to you :)
> 
> So, sit back, relax and don't forget- kill your double!

It happened at first without anyone really realising that anything was amiss. Stranger things had happened in Night Vale, and the odd crackle of static buzzing in the background remained unnoticed for a while. But, inevitably, people in their homes, at work, eating their food warily at Big Rico's, almost everybody soon felt an unsettling, creeping feeling of dread which whispered that something was not at all right that morning.

 

It was difficult to ascertain what was wrong- the hooded figures were as placid as they usually were, the Glow Cloud was humming if not innocently than at least quietly in the far distance. Only when the silence of everyones' wonderings caused the crackle of the radio to become unusually loud, people at last realised what was wrong.

 

Night Vale Radio was not broadcasting.

 

Perhaps this should not have seemed quite so alarming, but everybody knew that despite the dangers and horrors of Night Vale that plagued even the most harrowed inhabitant, their host Cecil was always perfectly punctual with his show. Even when he had been unwell, his familiar and sonorous voice, albeit slightly muffled with a cold or sore throat, wafted into the ears of his faithful listeners. Whilst tuning in to the informative broadcast wasn't strictly mandatory for the citizens of Night Vale, it seemed to be an unspoken rule that one _had_ to listen to the show. And even if one didn't have the intention of listening, each radio in their peculiar little town _did_ have the tendency to turn themselves on just as Cecil introduced the morning's topics. 

 

And so, almost everybody in Night Vale felt the absence of Cecil's voice at a little after ten o'clock that morning, an icy feeling of unease that settled in their stomachs like an ache.  People tried to shake it off with a laugh- maybe Cecil had gotten caught in traffic, or maybe he was distracted by his 'perfect' boyfriend Carlos. The whole town was well up to date with Cecil's relationship details, considering that the enthusiastic broadcaster gushed about their most eminent scientist at every opportunity he got. But, somehow, they knew that Cecil was too professional to let even Carlos distract him this much from his radio related duties.

 

No one could make their mind up as to what should happen next. This was the irony of the situation; they relied so much on Cecil's daily  updates and information that they were at quite a loss as to what they should do and with no advice floating cheerfully from the radio speakers, the residents of Night Vale were completely stumped. And it didn't help that the longer they tallied, the angrier the buzzing from the radios seemed to become, almost as if a furious horde of bees were trapped inside and was intent on escape. Every radio rattled with the vibrations, a cacophony of noise that could be heard everywhere which seemed unlikely to stop anytime soon. Gradually, the noise intensified- with every passing minute, it was as if twenty more bees were trapped inside that metal prison, and soon the sound was a steady rumble in each house.

 

But the residents of Night Vale were nothing if not adaptive, so most went about their daily business, ignoring the ominous buzz from their radio. Somewhat unsurprisingly, none of the radios would turn off, even if electrical ones were unplugged from the walls, so most people passed off the morning's strange events as ' _just one of those things_.' which usually went on in their quaint little town. They assumed it would eventually get sorted out, and it was usually best to just let the authorities handle situations like these. 

 

 

 

Meanwhile, in her neat little house at the edge of Night Vale, Old Woman Josie sat in a quiet room, a ball of yarn in her lap and two knitting needles clacking with extreme speed. The door creaked, breaking Josie out of her reverie and she looked up from her needlework in annoyance. An angel had entered the room, further breaking her quiet solitude by holding a buzzing radio in its arms and blinking irritatedly with its many unfathomable eyes. Reluctantly, she placed the needles on her lap and sighed.

 

"Good morning, Baker Erika. I _thought_ I could hear a buzzing in the other room. I assumed that perhaps it might have been another nest of Scorpion Hornets in the attic, and I half feared I would have to send Exterminator Erika up to investigate."

 

The angel stood imposingly at the foot of her rocking chair, emanating a soft glow that lit brighter highlights in Josie's brilliant silver hair. It shook the radio still grasped in its hands in a slightly annoyed way, moving its head from side to side as if the noise emerging from it was unbearable. It let out a keening note, almost musical in its purity, and Josie understood the question, as only she could. 

 

"You're wondering what that noise is." There was another note, seemingly a conformation of sorts. Josie pressed on, "Well, I _do_ know what it is even though I truly wish I didn't."

 

The angel keened again, the tone lower and more imploring. Old Woman Josie set down her needlework onto the table in front of her and heaved herself off of her rocking chair, brightly coloured bits of yarn falling slowly to the floor. She sighed again, lamenting that her perfectly scheduled day had been ruined, as usual.

 

"It is Station Management, and let me tell you something. They are _not happy."_

 

 

 ***

 

 

That same morning, Cecil had woken up feeling absolutely excellent. He lay languidly on his bed for a few moments, relishing the strong rays of sunlight that peeked through his curtains as they hinted at possibly another great day. As he basked in the warmth, the memories of the previous night played deliciously on his mind.

 

The night before had been unexpectedly wonderful. Just as his sonorous 'Good night, listeners.' had faded into the silence as usual, Cecil had resigned himself to a calm, albeit lonely, night in his home. That is until his phone gave a merry buzz on the table, both startling and exciting him in equal measure, his heart beating as if it was in competition with the vibrating phone. He denied himself a glance at the caller I.D, closing his eyes and hoping, hoping, that the person on the other end was who he wanted it to be. Indeed, he was soon rewarded with a deep, steady voice which still managed to elicit a prickle of delight that only Carlos could. Cecil listened intently to that most wonderful voice, nodding fervently until he remembered that of course Carlos would not be able to see him. Cursing his stupidity, he spoke to the waiting Carlos, confirming that he would be right over as soon as he had gathered his things.

 

And so, he had gone round to Carlos's laboratory to help him organise his old beakers. _Beakers_ , what a silly code, Cecil had thought, laughing at the mysterious ways in which the scientist's mind worked. Carlos did seem oddly surprised when the other man swept away his scientific equipment and kissed him hard against his work bench, but leaned into that strong and comforting touch. Still smiling through the kiss, Cecil decided that maybe because Carlos was so scientifically minded he sometimes had to disguise his romantic desires under petty requests for sorting out silly things like beakers. 

 

But anyway, Cecil had a lovely evening watching his beautiful Carlos do whatever it was that he did in that laboratory after they had sorted out the scattered equipment, trying his best to be a quiet and efficient lab partner. Of course, despite his heartfelt efforts Cecil was none of these things so he ended up being a rather chaotic distraction, but somehow Carlos didn't mind. It was unusual for him to have someone around who was so interested in his work; even though the radio broadcaster wasn't particularly invested in science, his enthusiasm was a good match for his own and was a pleasant change to his usually solitary lab work. 

 

Steadily, the sky outside of the window darkened, the faint purplish sunset of Night Vale fading into the deep obsidian of the void. As the evening drew towards night time, Carlos pottered around intently and Cecil nattered about everything and anything that came to him; it was almost like listening to his radio show but with wild hand gestures and even more giggling. Carlos tried to pay attention to what Cecil was saying, but sometimes when the thing he was observing was so unusual, he couldn't help but mutter to himself, accidentally cutting across what the broadcaster was saying. It happened more often than was probably polite, and once again, Carlos's brain was absorbed by the items laid out in from of him, Cecil's voice heard but not listened to in the background. Frowning, he leant further over an old fashioned pocket watch which lay on his table, the tarnished steel contrasting with the sterile white surface beneath.

 

"Cecil, I've been looking at these clocks again," The smooth tones cut through the air, and Cecil stopped talking immediately, happy that Carlos was talking after a prolonged sort of silence.

"Uh huh?"

Still leaning closely to his work surface, Carlos continued, "And do you remember when I told you about how I believe Night Vale doesn't run on conventional time?"

"Uh huh." Peering sideways, Cecil was thinking about how unfair it was that Carlos could be blessed with such fine hair _and_ a lovely strong jaw. Life was a cruel mistress indeed.

"Well," Carlos pointed downwards, his gloved hand stark in the gloom, "Look at that watch. What do you see?"

 

Now it was Cecil's turn to feel a little flustered, as he always was when Carlos asked him for his dreaded Scientific Opinion, something which he felt he was hardly qualified to answer for. Nonetheless, pleasing his partner was his number one priority, so Cecil shimmied over and placed his hands on the desk, honing in on the watch. His brain was whirring, casting about for an appropriate answer. 

 

"Hmm," His face was screwed up in concentration. "Well, it's ticking for sure-"

"Yes." Cecil looked up at Carlos's bewildered tones, "When I last spoke to you about this, I thought I had made a mistake and that it didn't matter, but it's the same for _every clock._ They tick and the time is exactly right, but there's nothing inside them. No cogs, no dials, no batteries, _nothing._ In _every_ clock."

 

He couldn't help the note of panic creep into his voice at the end. There, lying innocently on the table the stopwatch was ticking determined little ticks, the noise loud in their ears after his frantic voice. It was impossible, an empty shell of a thing which he did not understand; the pure inexplicable nature of it frightened Carlos and made him want to smash this strange object against the wall. 

 

He remembered when he had first conducted this experiment all those months ago; it seemed that the memory of The Man in the Tan Jacket had somehow overtaken the importance of this test, that awful, blank face shining brighter in his mind than that of a rusty old stop watch. But over the next few months after this first experiment, he had been diligently checking every clock in Night Vale, and each one yielded similarly disturbing results. He wanted, no, he _needed_ an explanation from Cecil, though he knew from hard won experience that this was was probably going to be very unlikely. Indeed, his heart sank as Cecil cocked his head, a coy smile alighting on his face as if he believed Carlos was teasing him.

 

"Well, it _is_ a clock, sweetest Carlos."

 

"What do you mean?" Carlos had asked the question with hesitance, dreading the answer as he knew how far-fetched some of Cecil's explanations could be. Realising now that Carlos was not teasing him, Cecil's brows furrowed, a look of deep confusion that matched the scientist's crossing his face.

 

"Why, clocks don't have anything _in_ them! They are, they're just…clocks!" 

 

"But…but how would…" Carlos felt like he was floundering in a vast sea of unknowing, unable to reach this statue of a man who was staring at him as if he was the strangest fish he had ever seen. Although he felt rather uncomfortable at Cecil's piercing gaze, he stuttered onwards, "…how would the hands move if there's nothing inside to move them?"

 

"Carlos, dear Carlos," Despite the gentle address, Cecil's voice was strained, "I'm not a watchmaker, merely a humble radio broadcaster. Who am I to judge the mysterious workings of time itself?

 

"But it isn't, it's not…it isn't _normal._ "

 

Even as the last few words left his mouth, Carlos knew that he had said the wrong thing. Cecil's amused smile had frozen, his posture ramrod straight; slowly, the light atmosphere that they had been enjoying previous to the stopwatch conversation seemed to be turning colder and colder. As the silence became longer and more desolate, the scientist looked up nervously. 

 

Now, most people would assume that Cecil, due to his constant declarations of love for his newfound boyfriend heard daily on the radio, listened to everything Carlos said with an adoring expression, never questioning his obviously perfect words. But, whenever Carlos mentioned how very strange or wrong Night Vale was with such emphasis, there was a tightening to Cecil's face, an almost imperceptible turning down of the corners of his mouth. Carlos saw the hurt he had caused too late, but any attempt to remedy his statement were cut off as Cecil spoke in a sad little voice, somehow loud in the suddenly frigid atmosphere. 

 

 "It is normal. To me." 

 

They were still stood side by side, almost touching, but there was an overwhelming feeling of great distance, a deep chasm that had opened as it inevitably did whenever the concept of normality was mentioned. To stretch a hand, to make that step over that vast void of nothingness and accept the other person's view above their own was such a frightening thought, and Carlos wanted to, oh how badly he wanted to. But to accept Cecil's world meant discarding his own, and Carlos wasn't entirely sure whether he was strong enough to do this. And yet, the hurt from the other man was palpable, so different from his usually exuberant air. He felt awful.

 

Yes, this strange business with the stopwatch made him extremely confused, and more than a little frightened, but should he blame Cecil for it? Sometimes he forgot that although Night Vale was an incredibly odd place, Cecil had grown up with this sort of thing happening daily; to him it was the height of normality. How could Carlos tell him what was wrong and right, when a challenge to his own opinion lay in front of them?

 

Knowing he needed to apologise, Carlos attempted to catch his eye but Cecil for once was not looking at him, and was staring determinedly at a distant spot on the floor. Carlos wished he understood what people usually did in these sorts of situations, but he thought he knew Cecil, or at least knew a little about what he liked. What Carlos lacked in articulation, he knew he made it up in his actions, if Cecil's usually flushed face was anything to go by whenever the scientist came into contact with him. With a touch, Carlos could convey all that he could not with his mumbled and clumsy words, and Cecil always received these actions with the pleasure of a well petted cat.

 

And so, Carlos, still fully aware of the broadcaster's unhappy stance and hoping desperately that he was doing the right thing, quickly removed the glove on his right hand, the soft slide of the latex the only sound in the room. Cecil's eyes flickered upwards at the unexpected noise, and they widened as a warm hand was placed over his own, stroking upwards in an attempt to envelop those long and delicate fingers. Cecil's rigid posture seemed to lessen as that smooth hand slid over his, caressing his own skin with a sweetly nervous touch. Finally, he looked down at Carlos, who was biting his lip with a face expressing the deepest apology.

 

"Cecil… look, I'm sorry." He stroked a finger down the back of Cecil's hand, the soft touch somehow seeming to leave a pleasantly burning trail. "It's just, things can get  a little overwhelming, you know?"

 

Cecil did not speak, watching in fascination as those beautiful fingers worked over his own. Carlos did not feel worried though, as he could sense that the broadcaster was beginning to thaw. He brought his body closer, feeling Cecil relax as he leant against him, and slowly, the broadcaster's head drooped onto Carlos's shoulder. The scientist couldn't conceal a smile as Cecil, like a small child, burrowed his face into his shoulder, clearly relishing the contact. He still hadn't said a word though, so Carlos spoke in a gentle voice, simultaneously stoking his hand.

 

"Am I forgiven?" 

"Mmm." Cecil's mumble was indistinct, and Carlos grinned. He moved his face closer to Cecil's, his breath ghosting softly across the broadcaster's ear.

"Excuse me? I didn't catch that."

Cecil gasped, "Yes, yes, alright! I forgive you!" and Carlos laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle which reverberated around the room. He looked down at his hand which was entwined with Cecil's and the laughter made way to a gasp. The tattoos which adorned Cecil's arms seemed to be moving towards the hand which was touching him, ink tentacles coiling and uncoiling, symbols moving in mysterious patterns towards the unfamiliar skin. Cecil moved his head from its burrowed position at the sound of the gasp, and his face reddened as he noticed his tattoos undulating across his skin. He looked as Carlos fearfully, as if expecting him to finally be fully weirded out and leave. 

 

"Oh, um, Carlos, I can try and get them to stop-"

"No." With a little effort, Carlos removed his hand from Cecil's and placed it on his arm; at this higher contact, the tattoos moved towards his hand, gathering enthusiastically in a cacophony of colour and movement. It was slightly strange, as the tattoos didn't particularly feel like anything, but somehow Carlos could definitely feel that they were there. He took a deep breath, "They're part of you." 

 

Cecil blinked at the unexpected words, then a large and wolfish grin alighted on his face. Beating mysterious paths along that pale skin, the road caster's tattoos did look extremely odd, but Cecil looked so sweetly concerned, causing Carlos to swallow his misgivings. And besides, Carlos thought he might have a slight weakness for men with tattoos. Cecil, with his copious amount of patterned jumpers, floppy hair and tendency to ramble like a Valley Girl at things he loved hardly seemed the type to have tattoos, and yet they suited and complimented him perfectly. When Carlos had first seen them move across his skin he had felt alarmed, but he had to admit they had a certain charm. He ran a finger across a swirling symbol, following the spiral pattern with a gentle touch. 

 

"Let's forget about the clocks, hmm? I need your advice on some other experiments." 

 

Cecil looked absolutely delighted at the thought of his opinion being valued, and although he reluctantly parted from Carlos to return to  his bench, their previously comfortable atmosphere gradually resumed as Cecil nattered incessantly and Carlos pottered around completing his mysterious work. The night wore on, their small blip slowly fading as they both furiously attempted to put it behind them.  

 

They stayed like that together for a few hours longer, the dimness of the room increasing as Carlos's experiments were light-sensitive, his pure, white lab coat shining starkly in the gloom. Eventually though, Carlos brought his concentration away from his work and noticed how extremely dark the room was becoming, the shadows long and intimidating. He mentioned that the hour was probably stupidly late and Cecil, with an overly suggestive wriggle of the eyebrows, hinted that he should either go home or, ominously,  'Stay over'. Carlos blinked a few times behind his glasses, completely at a loss as to what he should say.

He always prided himself with having a solid, scientific mind, but Carlos was generally flustered about romantic notions and absolutely _terrible_ at picking up hints, especially when his mind was so full of information from the experiment he had just been working on. He fiddled with a test tube, stammering that Cecil should probably go home so he could at least get some rest before his show tomorrow. Far too late, and with a slight cringe, he realised what Cecil had been getting at and braced himself for the return of the sad Cecil which had emerged before. However, it was a pleasant surprise when instead of getting upset Cecil merely laughed and tapped his boyfriend on the nose, spouting some nonsense about him 'Playing hard to get', completely oblivious to Carlos's reddening cheeks.

 

The scientist began to mumble again, cursing his cowardice and complete inability to ask his own boyfriend to do something so simple as stay over. But Cecil, blind to his partner's concern, laughed again, leaning down to kiss Carlos on the cheek, his soft lips relishing the roughness it found there. Carlos stood still, as usual slightly mesmerised by this strange man that somehow found _him_ exotic and wonderful. 

 

Being kissed by Cecil was always a strange but definitely interesting experience; sometimes, inexplicably, the man seemed to emanate a faint sort of glow. It wasn't so noticeable by daytime, but in these gloomy quarters a faint luminescence was evident around the broadcaster, and for some unexplainable reason this didn't bother Carlos as much as it probably should have done. Perhaps it was because after a while studying its mysterious inhabitants, someone that glowed a little was practically safe for Night Vale, but Carlos still longed to test why this happened to Cecil. Somehow, he didn't think he would mind being experimented on. He tried to shut that interesting thought away as Cecil broke apart from him, walking steadily over to the bench that he had been sat on.

 

Cecil bent down and lifted up his red satchel from where it lay on the floor. His eyes sparkled in the gloom, Carlos avoided the third one which sometimes appeared on his forehead as he still wasn't quite ready to accept that it existed yet, and he looked over with a coy gleam of purple.

 

"You coming to the studio tomorrow after I finish up?"

 

Carlos stuttered, feeling slightly flustered, "Oh, I think-"

 

" _Great_!" The scientist's feeble reply faltered and stopped completely at the wide grin, displaying Cecil's very white but alarmingly sharp teeth. "I'll see you then. Goodbye, my sweet Carlos!" 

 

And with a flourish and a flash of patterned waistcoat, Cecil exited the lab. Carlos was left leaning against the table, feeling as he always did after one of Cecil's visits, rather overwhelmed. In the silence caused by the aftermath of Cecil's departure, the ticking of the fateful clock became apparent again, and it was with utter reluctance that Carlos picked up the tarnished watch, gingerly placing the unexplainable object in a drawer. He wished he hadn't upset Cecil before, and the memory of the hurt on the other man's face assaulted him and made him feel awful, but he was glad they had at least made up. He settled himself on the bench for a while, the feeling of Cecil's hand underneath his own and his lips on his cheek filling his thoughts until sleep beckoned, and he turned his back on that ominous drawer. 

 

 

***

 

 

So, Cecil, sated with the thought that Carlos would be meeting him after his radio show recording, hummed his way through getting ready that morning. Was it a furry pants and tunic sort of day? No, silly, that was a special date outfit. A special _first_ date outfit. Maybe he could ask Old Woman Josie if she would frame it for him, she was very good at that sort of thing. Cecil delved deeper into his voluminous wardrobe and snatched a Hawaiian shirt and checkered sweater vest which lay snugly together at the bottom. Perfect- Carlos would be speechless with joy. Carlos was usually struck speechless at Cecil's outfit choices, and he was very happy that his clothes garnered his partner's approval.

 

It wasn't a very long way from his house to the radio tower, but Cecil still opened his door before he set out to check if the Glow Cloud or some other troublesome and unexpected phenomenon was blocking the road. Usually, it was quite an uneventful walk to the station, but each citizen knew it was wise to check outside before starting any journey, no matter how small. Every child in Night Vale knew the story of little Johnny Kravitz who ignored his mother's warning about checking the front garden for danger and ended up eaten by a giant rogue scorpion which had escaped from the municipal petting zoo. _Those who wait don't end up as bait_ , as the old proverb went. 

 

That morning however, the road was clear, the sun was shining its usual vibrant blood orange and the streets of Night Vale were suitably scorpion-free. Cecil, ambling cheerily down the road with his red satchel bouncing by his side would have whistled, but he had just remembered that whistling in the streets before twelve had been outlawed the week before. He wasn't one to argue with the law, no matter how confusing or irrational other people claimed it to be, so his journey was a quiet one. 

 

He was a lone figure on the streets as the town was slow to rise, most people tuning in to the radio station as they woke up, but Cecil didn't feel particularly lonely. Even though he was by himself in his studio, the occasional doomed intern popping in now and then to complete their various assignments before inevitably disappearing, he enjoyed being the voice of Night Vale; the one who informed the town of what was going on and how they should handle it. Perhaps it could be said that sometimes, all by himself in the recording booth with a slow news day and Station Management commanding that he stay there until further notice it could be a little depressing, but Cecil loved having such an important duty towards the town. 

 

 

The radio tower loomed on the horizon, a tall and imposing sentinel of the town, and after a little more walking Cecil drew up towards the door, his long legs covering the distance easily. Sat behind a glass booth which blocked his way were two security guards, looking as bored as they usually did. The shorter of the two, Nadine, a stocky lady with the dark purple uniform favoured by the security guards, waved dismissively as Cecil brandished his I.D Card.

 

"Cecil, I _know_ it's you!" They did this every morning. Ignoring her tone completely, Cecil smiled his brilliant smile and wriggled an admonishing finger. 

 

"Could have been my double Nadine, could have been my double." He always responded with the same thing, and Nadine groaned as she saw his eyes sparkle, knowing full well what what coming next.

 

"Cec-"

 

"And we all know what to do when we see our double?"

 

"Ce-"

 

" _Right?_ " 

 

He beamed at her, and Nadine knew she was beaten. She sighed, casting her eyes to the heavens.

 

"We kill our double."

 

"Right! Remember, you never know when that information will come in handy." He moved forwards through the door, his head turned towards the booth as he walked, "Oh, and nice tie today, Jurgen- looks _lovely_ with your horns." 

 

The hunched man next to Nadine chuckled as his companion muttered darkly under her breath, but in truth it was all very lighthearted. It was hard to dislike Cecil, no matter how silly he seemed, and they watched dismissively as he strode through the entrance, his patterned vest bright in the otherwise drab doorway.

 

 

It had to be said that the corridors of the radio tower were rather dim, as Station Management seemed to prefer a gloomier atmosphere and no one wanted to disagree with them, not if they valued their life. Most of the bulbs were only glowing feebly except for one particular specimen which shone out with unusual fierceness and had defied every single attempt to remove it. Apparently it had been touched by one of Josie's angels when she had visited the station some time ago to be interviewed about her marvellous cooking, and it had retained some of its angelic interference ever since, much to the chagrin of the inhabitants. It was a familiar part of his routine now though, and Cecil smiled as he passed under its reassuring luminescence.  

 

The inside of his studio beckoned, familiar and welcoming; his little hub of information. There were many different items adorning the walls; sheets of paper, photographs of various townspeople, old and faded newspapers. Next to the door was a long sheet detailing the names of each and every intern that had served Night Vale Community Radio, a list which Cecil dutifully updated every time something unfortunate happened to the poor souls. There was currently a question mark next to 'Dana'.

 

Rubbing his eyes with one hand, Cecil reached for his coffee maker which he kept on his desk along with a mug proclaiming "I love science!" which he had bought to impress upon Carlos his utter seriousness and devotion towards the science which he so enjoyed. As he waited for the pot to boil, he reached absentmindedly into his in-tray to see what morning topics he would be introducing for that day. It was only when he realised that his hands had been scrabbling around the smooth base of the tray that he knew something was deeply wrong.

 

There were no sheets in the tray, no sign of any of the regular papers instructing him on what he was supposed to say that morning. Or at least no one had put any in, which was very odd indeed. In fact, it was downright careless of the interns, and Cecil began to feel rather annoyed about it- he didn't have long until he had to start the programme for goodness sake! And everyone would chastise him for tardiness if he started his show later than usual. His hands scraped uselessly against the base of the tray which somehow felt quite cold, but still he could find no evidence of any paper. Feeling angry, he lifted his hand out of the drawer and made to reach for his coffee cup. However, when he caught sight of his arm on the way to performing this action, he almost screamed.

 

The whole of his hand was covered in a viscous red liquid, dripping a steady stream of scarlet down his arm. How in the world had he not noticed that the tray had blood in it? It was so very peculiar, as he could see that it was unmistakably blood on his arm, and yet it did not _feel_ like a liquid. In fact, it seemed far too heavy and cold and he shuddered as he felt this mystery substance trickling its way down. How inconvenient, how _messy,_ how-

 

Cecil's eyes widened in astonishment. The blood seemed to somehow be dripping far too quickly down his arm considering he was now standing still and staring at the vibrant stain. In fact, small rivulets of blood were now falling off of his arm and onto the floor, moving up the corridor, seeming to leading a line from Cecil's booth to an unknown destination. A line which he suspected with a sinking sense of dread that he was supposed to follow. 

 

It was always wise to follow unexpected signs like this in Night Vale to avoid terrible consequences, but Cecil was feeling rather cross. His arm now needed washing, his show was probably going to be late; he was going to be a laughing stock. He called out in a loud voice which carried in a rumble down the corridor,

 

"You know, if someone wants to talk to me they can just come in! No need to waste any blood, just some polite words."

 

There was silence after his angry voice echoed through the narrow space. No answer was forthcoming, and this only served to make Cecil's bad temper increase. 

 

"I'm not going! If someone's activated a blood stone circle this early in the morning I will _not_ be held accountable. People these days, _honestly-"_

 

He stopped speaking, a large, wet _something_ landing splat on his forehead and obscuring all three of his eyes, an event that was both painful and extremely uncomfortable. He scrabbled at his face with his sleeves, trying his best to get the strange blood out of his vision and trying oh so hard to not swear like a potty mouthed citizen of Desert Bluffs. He could smell it, the coppery stench almost overwhelming all of his senses, but he still looked up to try and discover why on earth the blood had come from the ceiling. Wiping his face one last time in desperation, he squinted and through the gloom made out a dripping word on the ceiling.

 

_Go._

 

Cecil was utterly bewildered. Go where? But, as he was wringing his hands in worry, wondering what the hell he had possibly done now, the word shimmered and formed another shape, a rounder shape. It became an eye, the symbol of Night Vale, but no, that wasn't just it. Lines of blood seemed to form tentacles around the eye in intricate swirling patterns, and Cecil knew exactly what that meant. He gulped; Station Management. 

 

He was utterly petrified; what could they possibly want with him? In the very back of his mind Cecil worried vaguely that he should have started broadcasting by now, but his present situation screamed at him to focus on the blood and sinister message. He must have been frozen for far too long, as he jumped when a crackle of static seemed to heave out of his microphone. The crackle soon became louder, more intense, making the microphone vibrate on his desk. 

 

"… _Go…Cecil_ …" 

 

It was as if a hurricane had been given a voice, the words half formed seemed to spin haphazardly round the room and vibrate through his very being. More scarlet liquid emerged from the speaker, flowing once more in a steady stream out of the door, and this time Cecil knew he must heed its commands. With legs that felt akin to leaden weights, he followed parallel to the line of blood leading down the murky corridor, his feet slapping wetly along the floor. He met no one in the hall, not one person to tell him what was going on, to save him. Maybe they all knew that it was Cecil and Cecil alone who had been summoned so unceremoniously from his booth, to the complete mercy of Station Management. He uttered a silent plea as he passed underneath the singularly glowing light bulb, _please let it be ok_ , _please, please_. 

 

It was an uncomfortable and nerve-wracking walk to Station Management's office, and all too soon Cecil was behind that dreaded frosted glass, a multitude of mysterious shapes swirling and coalescing behind the door in the most sinister way. He waited, every second increasing the sound of his heart pumping furiously in his chest, and the only other noise was the blood on the floor making a soft sort of squelch as it disappeared under the crack of the door. The wait was unbearable, but no voice called for him, no person came for him. He wondered if he should knock, but the thought was too horrible to comprehend. 

 

There was a soft noise, strange after the harsh buzzing he had left behind, the sound of paper being dragged across the floor. His head flicked from side to side as he tried to locate the source of the sound, then he looked down and saw it. 

 

Cecil had to clap a bloodstained hand to his mouth to stop himself from screaming, the other holding the wall as his legs threatened to give way. He could not believe this was happening, it hadn't happened for so long. He knew he had to take it, as the consequences of ignoring such a thing were dire in the least and utterly catastrophic at most. He couldn't help it any longer- he slid down the wall, his face buried in his hands.

 

There, next to his slumped figure was that most dreaded of envelopes; the scarlet envelope. And, written on the front was one word, and one word only.

 

_Carlos._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooft, sorry for the wait! The chapters for this story are quite long, and as I want them to be worthy for you to read it takes me a while to churn them out. But, please enjoy! And also, I began writing this story before the recent episode of Night Vale mentioned the stopwatch Carlos gave to Cecil, and I wonder if they are going to bring up the clocks not working as a future plot point. Ah well, we'll just see how it goes!
> 
> Anyways, happy reading!

Burrowed deep within the soft cocoon of his covers, Carlos frowned, his mind flicking fretfully in that tender moment between sleeping and waking up. Although his mind was foggy with tiredness, something seemed to be nagging at him, a thought which dragged him mercilessly into consciousness, causing him to open his eyes, blinking rapidly at the sunlit room before he found his glasses on the bedside table. When they were securely on his nose, he lay back onto the covers and tried to think about what precisely was troubling him.

 

After a few moments, his eyes were drawn to the electronic alarm clock he kept on his bedside table, lying benignly next to an old fashioned radio that had arrived as a complimentary gift with the house. He frowned at the curved numbers, as for some inexplicable reason he knew that this was the source of his odd feelings. The bed creaked as he leant forwards, the springs making a soft twang as the table loomed closer. He examined the time the alarm clock displayed, wondering why it should suddenly seem so strange to him. Carlos's frown increased at the time it showed, his heart sinking as he realised what seemed so odd about the alarm. It was far past the time that Cecil's radio show usually started and there was no sign of the programme airing; this notion was both perplexing and frighteningly unusual.

 

Perhaps this wouldn't have seemed to very important to anyone else, but Carlos had a guilty secret that he could barely admit even to himself; most mornings he allowed himself to be gently guided out of sleep by that sonorous voice which drifted softly from the radio and floated to his ears. It was something of a tradition, as ever since he had first moved to Night Vale the radio had somehow switched itself on, startling him out of sleep. At first he had been deeply confused as to how such a remarkable thing could have happened, but soon he learnt to lay back and enjoy the ridiculous and extraordinary words spoken by Cecil's soothing voice. To suddenly not have this tradition which he had grown so used to made him feel very, very uneasy.

 

But, then again, since when did anything in Night Vale ever follow logical rules? Maybe today was some kind of weird Night Vale celebration that Cecil had forgotten to tell him about. In a valiant attempt to convince himself that everything was fine, Carlos straightened up on the bed, stretching his tired limbs with a barely compressed yawn. Yes, that seemed likely. There was no need to panic, he just needed to apply rational thought and everything would be fine. He clapped a hand to his face, wishing the buzzing noise in his head would just go away.

 

It took him a few more minutes, and indeed a few more slaps to the head, to realise that the buzzing noise was actually coming from the radio on his bed side table. Halfheartedly, he tried to tell himself that it was just a bad signal but conceded defeat when the table began to shake, rocking precariously on its spindly legs. He almost jumped from the unexpectedness of it- the radio had actually started vibrating, the deep thrum of it reverberating solidly in the quietness of his room. 

 

"Oh."

 

Carlos reached out a tentative hand, thinking perhaps if he tried turning it off then the radio would stop its strange activities, but as his hand approached the strange device the humming intensified, the table now rattling like it was about to try and scutter across the room. A whine emitted from the once docile machine, so loud it made him want to cover his ears from the pure pain of it, but he knew he had to at least try and do something to stop it. Frightened, but still very determined, Carlos reached out a finger and touched one of the dials in an attempt to turn it off, and all hell broke loose.

 

A screech, incredibly deafening in its intensity, ripped from the speaker, blasting the pieces of paper that lay beside it onto the floor. Carlos couldn't help it; he covered his ringing ears with his hands, the pain of the noise making his eyes water. Now, he decided, was the time to run, and to run fast. He stumbled backwards, trying desperately to escape this incredible situation, wishing and wishing that Cecil and his reassuring voice was here to tell him what the hell he was supposed to do when the radios decided to attack. 

 

The room seemed impossibly big, the precious doorway seemed an infinite distance away. Carlos's eyes were glued to the radio, he couldn't help it, he couldn't drag his eyes away, he couldn't _stand_ the screeching any longer. He had just made it past the bed when the radio gave one last judder and stopped, the table giving one last shake before it too stilled.

 

For a few seconds, Carlos paused, staring wide eyed at this alien contraption which had somehow invaded his room. He knew it was probably folly, but his scientific mind wanted to _understand,_ to know precisely what was going on so he could find a solution. But he couldn't make sense of this at all, and yet, knowing there was nothing he could do, he remained rooted on the spot. It seemed that the sudden silence caused by the absence of the sinister buzzing had lulled him into a false sense of security, and his legs felt reluctant to move. His eyes were still fixed on the radio.

 

Somehow, now it was unmoving, the radio seemed even more foreboding; a predator waiting to pounce. Numbly, Carlos felt this thought wash over him, but for some peculiar reason it still didn't move him towards action. Then, with a suddenness that barely gave him time to gasp, a dark shape shot out of the radio and wrapped itself tightly around his arm, digging mercilessly into this flesh. He looked down in complete and utter horror at the tendril which had emerged impossibly from the radio, which seemed to shimmer and fluctuate in the air like smoke. Yes, it did not look solid at all, and yet it gripped him with a fearsome strength, pulling him towards the radio, surely towards his doom. Carlos struggled in vain, powerless to being hauled by this malevolent being, and he shuddered as the tendrils sent a vibration though his whole body. With a jolt of equal understanding and confusion, he realised that somehow the tentacles must be made up from sound.

 

How this was even possible, Carlos couldn't even begin to imagine. His whole body was beginning to shake violently from the vibrations emitted by the tendrils, and he tried to grab the bed, dreading what would happen when he was eventually dragged to the radio. His fingers scraped uselessly against the hard wood, his fingernails barely making an indentation on the dark whorls. Another tendril wrapped itself around his leg and he fell, now completely at the mercy of this strange menace as his body scraped across the rough floor. He tried to scream, to get someone, _anyone_ , to help, but his shout died in his throat as a third sound-tentacle emerged from the speaker and slid towards his face with vicious intent. It slid into his mouth.

 

It was the strangest experience in his life, and this was saying something as Carlos had experienced a _lot_ of weird things recently. It wasn't as if something solid was in his mouth at all,  in fact it was as if a thousand echoes were reverberating around his throat, constricting his own voice. He was choking, choking on the sounds which somehow seemed to be triumphant, a happily high pitched thrum that spoke of victory that they had managed to overcome the scientist so easily. He was dragged further across the floor, and his scrabbling hands found nothing to grab onto, no weapon to help and no anchor to save him. 

 

The dark carpet which lay in front of his forced-down head was becoming further and further away; he was being lifted upwards. His head, already occupied with the choking tentacle in his mouth, swam with the sudden change of height, and when he was more or less upright, the other two tendrils let go of his arm and leg. It was awful- he could see exactly where the tentacle had emerged impossibly from the radio speaker as he fell forwards, spluttering as that dread place loomed closer and closer. He winced as his forehead crashed into the surface, and it was as if he had been glued into place, his body held up by an almost magnetic attraction to the radio. 

 

The sound-tentacle wriggled more fiercely in his throat, as if it was searching for something. Carlos, usually so brave, usually so unwilling to give up, closed his eyes, wishing desperately that it would just be over. Mounting his last vestige of courage, he tried to shout one last valiant "No!" before he was overcome, but another tentacle swatted at him irritably. It was strange- they seemed to be getting angrier, as if for some reason Carlos was not complying to their demands, though he rather thought he had no choice in the matter. Knowing there was nothing that could save him now, he went limp, all the fight gone from him. Body dripping with sweat, eyes shut tight against the horor, he awaited his fate.

 

Then, miraculously, the tentacle froze. Slowly, then with a gathering speed as if it was somehow frightened, the tentacle slid out of his mouth. Carlos coughed and spluttered for what seemed like years and opened his eyes, hardly daring to believe that this horrible situation had stopped, then he saw it. Climbing through his window, one clawed hand angrily heaving at the wooden slats, was an angel, its many eyes fixed on the radio in a furious glare. Carlos could see no evidence of a mouth, but the angel was singing, a terrible song that seemed to dart past him and blast at the radio. The sound glowed in the darkness, a sinew of light that was so much thinner than the thick, dark tendril of sound that assaulted Carlos, but it seemed for some reason sharper; it had spun round the dark shape, squeezing it mercilessly and causing it to retreat in apparent pain. The angel-sound let out an almighty squeeze, and the tentacle shuddered, then shattered into a thousand reverberations that echoed harmlessly across the room. 

 

The angel screeched again, more bursts of light appeared to combat the dreaded dark shapes which still lingered in the gloom. As the tentacles retreated one by one back into the radio, Carlos felt his almost magnetic attraction lessen, and he pulled himself away with a vigour he thought he had lost. The angel was now fully in the room, terrible in its glowing magnificence, and Carlos could fully understand why the radio had quailed before it. That striking figure advanced closer and closer to the radio, singing its twisted siren song all the while, until the device seemed to diminish, to become simply a radio once more. Carlos collapsed onto the bed, his breath heaving as the angel strode past, its arms outstretched.

 

When the radio sat meekly once more on his desk and the angel grew silent, Carlos finally sat up and wiped his wet forehead, regarding this majestic and intimidating creature in front of him. He knew he wasn't supposed to acknowledge them, hell he knew he had gotten in trouble for doing so before, but didn't he owe this angel his life? His voice was horribly cracked, hoarse beyond belief, but he managed a strangled, 'thank you', and stretched out a hand. To his utter surprise, the creature recoiled, a hiss emerging like an angry snake as it backed away. Carlos looked at his hand in confusion.

 

There was blood on his hand. How had that happened? He remembered wiping his forehead, but…oh. He stretched a hand upward, noting in bewilderment that his forehead was covered in viscous blood and wondering how on earth he hadn't realised yet. He cast an eye over the radio, noticing for the first time that a dark red stain was being sucked back into the speaker. When he had fallen forwards onto the radio, had he somehow hit his head? Or had the blood come directly from the radio? He did not know. 

 

The angel hissed again, the crackle of its voice almost making Carlos jump out of his skin. To be honest, this imposing creature was nearly as frightening as the tentacles had been, and its sudden wrath instilled a horrible sense of fear in the scientist. Somehow, absurdly, the angel seemed to be wary of the blood on his head, and Carlos did not need the anger of another malevolent creature upon him. He looked up, staring directly at those utterly unreadable and slanted eyes and made his decision. He ran. 

 

 

It did not take him long to reach the streets of Night Vale, and his feet pounded the ground although he did not know at all where his destination lay. The only thing that consumed his mind now was the thought of Cecil, as the silence from the radio show now seemed too sinister to be ignored and hinted that the broadcaster was in mortal danger. He did not know why, but Carlos was inexplicably sure that he _had_ to go to the radio tower; the notion beat in his head, consuming his other thoughts. He could not know that all of the radios broadcasting their loud humming, which was audible even in the streets, were expressing the same word, warped and twisted into a form of subliminal message: _go, go, go._

 

Unknowing, he ran onwards.

 

The slap of his feet echoed in the empty streets, his breath huffed loudly as he sped down the dusty roads, both determined and frightened. He met no one else, and the complete absence of people stuck him as extremely odd. Usually, at least one resident of Night Vale could be seen pottering around and lifting up a waving hand when he passed, but now the streets were unusually eerie. Carlos turned a bend, and was filled with shock and excitement at a shape he saw standing still on the road. As he drew closer, his brain flashed in recognition. He cupped his mouth, attempting to shout in a hoarse voice, 

 

"H-hey... John Peters, err, the farmer?"

 

There was no answer. Carlos jogged forwards, his dark brows knitted in confusion. John Peters was definitely stood there in the middle of the road, and he at least usually gave Carlos a little nod of recognition whenever they passed each other. But the man was stood still, his feet planted firmly on the grey asphalt, seemingly ignoring him. Feeling rather hurt, Carlos drew level with the man and brought his eyes to his face. He gasped in shock. 

 

John Peter's eyes were wide open, staring intently before him. But what _eyes_ \- the pupil and iris were gone, and they seemed grey, no, somehow they were fuzzy. In fact, as Carlos drew nearer, he saw they were buzzing as if with grey static, the kind seen on television screens when nothing was being broadcasted and the screen glowed menacingly in the room. John Peters's mouth hung open, gormless, and the overall effect was terrifying; Carlos knew he needed to get away.  He slowed his pace, edging past this statuesque figure, but as he attempted to walk forwards, John Peters' head spun round, jerking awkwardly like a poorly controlled marionette. His mouth opened wider, and Carlos heard a crackle of static emerge, whipping through the air and making his ears tingle. The man's arms jerked upwards, seemingly to detain the scientist, and Carlos shot past, hoping in desperation that he would not catch up. He ran pell mell down the street, not even caring that his glasses dangled from his face.

 

 

When he reached the end of the road, he gasped, clutching at a stitch in his side. Eventually, he looked up and adjusted his glasses, and when he placed them back onto his nose and surveyed his surroundings he could not prevent a little moan from escaping him. Down the road were various citizens of Night Vale, each frozen in some form of activity, staring slack jawed into the distance. People had paused ridiculously in mid movement, pushing prams, pruning hedges, even eating an ice cream, which was now dripping unnoticed onto the pavement. All heads spun around as Carlos honed into view, and he could see clearly their buzzing static filled eyes, all fixed directly upon him. He stood there, preparing himself though he knew he was no match for this number of people.

 

The first person, a lovely lady who owned a local grocery store, advanced menacingly, her mouth open wide and emitting that horrible crackling.  However, she had moved no more than ten feet when she fell forwards, a large _crack_ renting the air and drawing the attention of the rest of the altered citizens, and Carlos too. The assaulter was none other than Old Woman Josie, wielding a mean looking stick and an even meaner expression, flanked by three angels. Carlos looked up, speechless.

 

"'Bout time you turned up, boy." Josie lunged to the left as a brainwashed citizen attempted to grab her, her stick making a sharp _smack_ on the unfortunate victim's head. She did not flinch at the falling body, staring at Carlos steadily as if nothing had happened. "I sent Gardener Erika to save you, though saving people isn't really their premier skill." She leant on the stick, moving closer and casting a scrutinising look at Carlos through her dark glasses. "You seem to be in one piece though, suppose that's a blessing." 

 

"J-josie" His voice was so raw, it was just so incredibly painful to speak. "T-the radios, the _radios-_ "

 

"Hush." For such an intimidating little lady, Josie's soothing voice cut through his panic. "I know what's going on, Carlos. I've been waiting for it for a while now." She clicked her tongue, and an angel swung its fist behind Carlos, smashing a menacingly advancing citizen in the face. They crumpled, and the angel raised a victorious fist, letting out a satisfied sort of keening note. Josie patted them on the elbow, the highest point she could reach. Carlos had so many questions, the thoughts burning in his mind, but for some reason his voice would not come out, and he could only gasp. Josie seemed to understand however, with that indomitable knowledge of hers.

 

"Something terrible is happening, Carlos. We can't stop it. We can only hope to slow its inevitable increase." 

 

She was speaking like Cecil in one of his philosophical moods, and the similarity burned in Carlos's heart so strongly that he felt it almost like physical pain. He spluttered again, trying so hard to get the words out.

 

"C-cecil, I _need_ to find Cecil-"

 

Her expression behind the glasses was inscrutable, and Josie knew she must not speak too baldly in case she incurred further wrath of Station Management. She knew that informing Carlos of the situation was important, but the longer they dallied the closer the throng of slack jawed citizens approached. She spoke quickly.

 

"Carlos, listen to me- you need to make sure that Cecil-" With a small choking noise, she stopped speaking, her body jerking backwards as if she was a puppet whose strings had been cut. One of the many loitering people had grabbed her shawl, dragging the old lady backwards and throwing her off-balance. Futilely, Josie tried to hit them, her voice wheezing over the scarf which seemed to be restricting her windpipe, but even the angels could not help, engaged with the zombie-esque crowd as they were. Carlos's way was blocked, he could not help, he could only hear Josie's frantic shouts, interspersed with gasps for air.

 

"Carlos! Don't go! For the love of Night Vale, _don't go_!" But her voice was lost in the heaving crowd of people surrounding her, and Carlos could not understand her warning. He needed to save Cecil, couldn't she see that? For the broadcaster was obviously in terrible peril, and Carlos could not sit back and watch. From the little of Carlos that she could see, Josie knew he was going to disregard her message, as she feared he might do. She could only try to hold off the throng of people in the hope it would give him more time, and she kept a firm grip on her stick, even as she was dragged by many waiting hands. 

 

  

The roiling mass of people seemed momentarily distracted in the action of apprehending Josie; Carlos ran past the outskirts of the crowd feeling rather cowardly, but knowing that Josie would want him to escape the wrath of the mob. Soon the radio tower honed into view, and even the dull, black metal seemed comforting and familiar. Carlos hovered by the front door, wondering if the security guards were still on duty and whether they were going to confront him. As he drew closer, he saw them stood there, open mouthed and vacant as he had feared. He stopped immediately, wondering how on earth he was supposed to get past them, woefully unarmed and still wheezing. But, to his surprise, they remained motionless and did not follow him as he had expected they might. They were stock still, the fuzzy grey static buzzing in their blank eyes, and Carlos wished more than ever that he could get away from this horrible nightmare, but he knew he had to press on. He darted through the entrance, half expecting a deadly pursuit, but no footsteps followed him. He sped down the corridor, his lab coat flapping in the breeze he had created.

 

Down the gloomy corridor he jolted, his complete fear of the current situation matched only by his desire to find Cecil safe and well. In his panic the corridors seemed endless, a labyrinthine passage that sought to throw him off his destination, but Carlos had memorised the layout of the station perfectly, whether subconsciously or not he did not know. Every single door that he passed was shut, and though the temptation to go inside one of the rooms to hide from this madness was tempting, Carlos pushed these tantalising and cowardly thoughts away. He turned a corner, knowing that Cecil's office wasn't too far off now, and he wished desperately that he could cover his ears from the buzzing that pervaded even this derelict corridor. But, as he drew closer, he heard a different noise interspersed with the crackle of the radios, a familiar, human noise. There was a sob, an absolutely anguished sob that was somewhat muffled by the closed door, but still floated hopelessly down the corridor.

 

"No… _no_! I won't do it- I _won't_!"

 

His heart beating fit to burst out of his chest, Carlos reached the peculiar, ancient looking wooden door that concealed Cecil's office and grabbed the handle roughly. To his astonishment and utter dismay, the door did not budge. Panicking fully now, Carlos stood on his tiptoes and peered through the small window on the door which gave him a brief but adequate view of the office within. The room was extremely dark- evidently, the bulb had blown, leaving an inky blackness that somehow seemed to roil and coalesce as if it were a living creature. Perplexingly, the 'on air' sign was still fully functional, flashing a bright red light which burned his eyes and left a glowing imprint when he closed them. But it was not this that Carlos was drawn to- his eyes, desperately staring through the murky glass, were very much fixed on the curled up figure of Cecil which lay on the floor.

 

It was horrifyingly mesmerising- the broadcaster seemed to have lost complete control over himself, and he was equally terrible and beautiful to behold. The luminescence which sometimes played off of his skin scorched a piercing white outline around him, making him a glowing centrepiece of the room, and he looked entirely alien, a fantastic creature that Carlos could only gape at. And his _tattoos-_ sinister symbols and clawing creatures moved angrily across his skin, a bubbling mass that made him into a living canvas that was dizzying to look at. He was shaking, clutching at his head as if this weak gesture would be able to keep out the harsh noise, and crackles of the light that he somehow emitted whipped through the air like a weird sort of lightning in time with each renewed sob. Hardly caring that Cecil looked more frightening than he had ever seen him before, Carlos banged on the door and hollered as loudly as his damaged throat could manage.

 

"Cecil! _Cecil!_ Open the door!" 

 

At the sound of his unexpected voice, the huddled body on the other side of the room gave an almighty jerk, and Cecil lifted his head upwards from his clutching hands, scratches evident on his face from where his nails had been clutching at his skin. He looked utterly wretched, and utterly unlike Carlos had ever seen him. He had seen Cecil scared, he had seen Cecil worried, but never had he seen Cecil look so lost.

 

The tattoos seemed to have retreated in his shock, leaving his skin glowing purely in the gloom. He gave his head a little shake, and his soft whisper hardly made it through the door and to Carlos's ears.

 

"Carlos."

 

Their eyes met through the glass, and Carlos was horrified to see Cecil's purplish eyes fill with tears as he shook his head again. His voice, usually so eloquent, was wracked with sobs.

 

"Carlos! No! No, no _no_ -"

Ignoring Cecil's frantic words, Carlos shook the door handle again and said firmly, "Let me in." 

"What…what are you _doing_ here?" 

"I came to find you."

The honesty of his words would have made Cecil shiver with delight, but he could not accept that the scientist was here, not now. He groaned, and a poster fell off of the wall behind him, floating gently towards the ground to join the rest of the scattered debris.

 

"Oh no, Carlos, you need to leave! Please, please leave."

"If you don't open the door," Carlos's teeth were gritted, "I'm going to knock it down." 

 

And, seeing his absolutely thunderous expression, Cecil did not doubt it. The broadcaster covered his face, knowing that if he looked at Carlos again then he would give into temptation, something which he knew he must not do. Hidden as he was behind both his hands and the door, Carlos had to strain his ears to hear Cecil's desperate voice.

 

"No. I won't do it. I _can't_. "

 

Carlos put a hand up to the glass, watching helplessly as the other man continued sobbing on the floor amongst sadly scattered pens, a smashed cup, ripped pieces of paper. There was only one option left, other than breaking down the door which was truthfully very unlikely if his sitd and bruised limbs were anything to go by. Carlos spoke softly, but clearly, staring straight at the miserable man on the hard floor as if they were not separated by the glass window. 

 

"Cecil. My Cecil." The broadcaster looked up in astonishment- Carlos's voice was softer than he had ever heard it before, and filled with something he could not quite place. Was it care? For Carlos had certainly never referred to Cecil as 'my' before. He leant closer on the door, noticing in his desperation that Cecil had at least paused his sobbing, "My Cecil, _please,_ open this door?" 

 

There was a pause, and Carlos braced himself for rejection, for Cecil to resume his sobbing. But, as he waited, he saw the luminescence around Cecil turn brighter, to expand outwards towards his direction. There was an almighty crackle, and a bolt of the light seemed to hit the door, and with a loud _click_ it swung open to receive Carlos. The scientist wasted no time; he leapt into the room, zig-zagging over bits of fallen debris and towards his parter who was struggling to stand up. Carlos leant down and heaved Cecil onto his feet, hardly caring that the crackles of light rebounded off of his skin. Cecil buried his head into that welcoming chest, wrapping his long arms around the lab coat-clad waist and relishing the feeling of the warm body and soft fabric. The scientist saw the bloodstains on Cecil's arms, the utterly catastrophic office which was usually so neat and his eyes were wide in awe. 

 

"Cecil, what _happened_?"

 

"Oh, curse this! Curse me! What have I done?" Cecil's face was scrunched up as if in pain, the words heaving out of his body, "What have I _done_?"

 

"Shh, Cecil," Carlos patted him lightly on the white blonde part of his hair, noticing with distaste that the strange, thick looking blood visible on Cecil's hands was there too, which now coated his own hand, "It's going to be fine-"

 

A loud crash interrupted his half-hearted words as an almost supersonic wail rent the air. Carlos could not help it- he gasped, the output of breath dwarfed by the monstrous noise, and toppled backwards with Cecil's tall frame still clutched onto him. Together they staggered towards the desk at the back of the room, trying to regain their balance, but the attempt was futile. As one, they fell to the floor, Cecil's taller body knocking the wind out of Carlos, who found himself momentarily unable to speak and very dazed. They lay on the floor together, gazing numbly at the ceiling. The wailing had stopped again, but it was a few moments before either man could bring themselves to move, let along speak. Cecil rolled off of the poor, crushed Carlos, leaning over him with an anxious frown.

 

"Are you ok?"

"I-I-I'm not sure."

 

Gingerly, and with a grimace of pain as moving jolted his bruised body, the scientist lifted himself off the hard, unforgiving floor of the office. As he did so, something which had lain on his chest fluttered to the ground, at first difficult to make out in the gloom. He reached out a hand to inspect it further, and Cecil's eyes followed his movement, widening in a sudden understanding at the item which must have fallen out of his pocket.

 

" _No!"_

 

The unearthly shriek made Carlos jump, and his hand paused mid action, hovering absurdly in the air. He frowned as he looked from the little red letter to Cecil's absolutely terrified face.

 

"It's only a letter-"

"Do not touch it! Carlos, _please,_ do not-"

Leaning closer, Carlos almost gasped again as the deep black words on that scarlet paper became clearer to read. 

"But it says…it says my name on it." 

 

Cecil, seeing the slightly gazed look in Carlos's eyes, grabbed too late; the scientist had scooped up the letter, and nothing could be done now. Names were a powerful thing in Night Vale, and each resident was always inexplicably drawn to anything which had their name on it, even those who were not native to the town. Carlos felt an urge, no a _need_ , to read this letter, and this feeling overrode all of his fear and confusion. Limbs shaking with the pain that his unceremonious crash to the floor had caused, Carlos rose to his feet and, sombrely, Cecil followed suit. The object, so small looking, so normal in any other situation, felt like lead in his hands; a death knell. The envelope crackled as he opened the flap, and he lifted out heavy, stained paper which looked like it belonged to an era long gone and long forgotten. Hands trembling, he began to read it, his eyes skimming over that dark red ink which looked so horribly like blood.

 

 

 

_Carlos._

 

_We have been watching._

 

_We have been listening._

 

_We have been patient._

 

_You have been watching too closely._

 

_You have been listening too clearly._

 

_We are patient no longer._

 

_Do not run._

 

_The Harvester is coming._

 

 

 

He read it again. And again. The words seemed to blur on the ancient looking paper, vicious curves of ink that seemed almost carved into the letter; but they did not make any sense. The threats seemed to ooze from the paper, infecting his mind in a miasmic flow, and yet he could not understand them at all. Cecil was silent, as he had not been able to see the letter as the scientist read it, and his expression displayed that he never, ever wanted to. Carlos couldn't help it- he read the letter one last time, and with a massive effort dragged his eyes away. When he spoke, his voice felt like it was emerging after a silence of fifty years.

 

"Who is 'The Harvester'?" 

 

Faster than lightning, faster than the unknown stars beating their mysterious path through the heavens, Carlos felt himself gripped on both shoulders by eye-wateringly strong hands, the broadcaster moving his face so it was inches from the scientist's. His already pale face was completely drained of colour, and the only brightness visible was his eyes, which pierced Carlos with a desperation so palpable he could feel it creeping into his very skin. 

 

" _What did you say?_ " 

 

Carlos squirmed under his tightly gripping hands; it was as if Cecil's voice was laden with ice, cutting into him with its coldness. He stammered.

 

"I-It mentions…the Harvester?" 

 

As the words left his mouth, Cecil gave a little choke, his eyes almost popping out of his head. Ignoring the vehement protests, he dragged Carlos towards the door, his self-control now completely gone as he didn't even register the other man's struggling, so intent on his task was he. The room was a blur of darkness as they laboured, and feeling his shoulders burn in pain, Carlos shouted,

 

"Cecil! Cecil, _stop_!"

"No, we need to go, right _now_ -"

"Cecil," Carlos's eyes were watering in pain, "Cecil, you're _hurting_ me!"

 

Immediately, the scientist felt the hands leave his arms as if his skin was been made of flame. Cecil brought his hands up to his face, staring at the other man's grimacing face in horror.

 

"Oh…Oh! Oh, Carlos," To his amazement, Carlos saw a tear drop down that pale cheek. "I am so…so s-sorry. I'm so stu-"

"No, look," It wasn't okay, but Carlos did not care about that at this particular moment; it was obvious how frightened Cecil was and Carlos knew he did not mean to be so rough, "I just need to know what's going on." Cecil looked relieved, so he pressed on urgently, "Please, I need to know." 

 

Cecil tried to look away from that imploring and steady gaze, but it was impossible. He could not believe this was happening, but it was obvious that Carlos needed to be informed of the situation no matter how much he did not want to let his beautiful, unmaimed partner know the truth. He sighed, and he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders.

 

"Fine, I will tell you. But not here." Cecil cast an eye around his office, taking in the blood soaked debris and upturned furniture in sadness. "It's no longer safe."

"It's, er, not really safe outside either." 

 

Cecil paused, thinking it through. Where could they go? He had to take Carlos somewhere safe, and the only place he could think of with adequate protection was Old Woman Josie's house. He did not, of course, know what fate had befallen her, but it was the only relatively protective place he could think of. He knew in the long run that even this apparent haven wouldn't protect them, but they had no other choice. 

 

"We'll have to try." He lifted out a hand, then with a guilty twinge, remembered how violent he had been moments before. Consumed with utter shame, he let his hand drop, looking at the floor, which was all he deserved. "Let's go."

 

But, as he prepared to move off, he felt a small, reassuring pressure on his hand; Carlos's beautiful fingers gripped his own, squeezing the trembling fingers. Cecil could not smile, but he squeezed back gratefully, this small pressure instilling him with a very tiny sense of hope. The scientist spoke, his voice still rough,

"Come on."

 

Together, they reached the doorway with hands entwined, both breathless with fear. Cecil was in the lead, and as he moved through the doorway he gave a little pause, causing Carlos to bump into him softly. Rubbing his nose, he looked up.

 

"What's wrong?"

 Cecil shook his head slowly, a confused look alighting on his face. His voice was unsure, baffled.

"I don't know.  For a moment, I felt…my head felt strange…" He gave it a little shake, looking dazed, "I don't know…oh, it doesn't matter. We need to _leave._ "

 

He renewed his brisk walk down the corridor, and, his mind consumed with thoughts of that ominous letter, Carlos decided not to pursue what had just happened; there were far more pressing matters at hand. Neither man could have known that in the brief moment when Cecil had stepped out of the doorway, in those few seemingly inconsequential seconds, his eyes had glowed with static. 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really am sorry that it's taking me so long to churn these chapters out, but each is quite long and I am incredibly busy. Excuses, excuses, but I'm at a bit of a troubled time in my life at the moment so I'm slightly occupied with that. I've been chewing over this chapter, as the new episode of night vale (and WHAT and episode that was!) slightly threw a spanner into the works, to be honest. But I'll be carrying on with my intended storyline, so I'm sorry if it gets confused with the canon at all. Ah well, artistic licence as always!
> 
> Sorry if there are any mistakes, you'll have to forgive me because I have been so strapped for time.
> 
> As always, please enjoy and thank you so much for reading!

Hands clutched together warmly, desperately, footfalls fell with frantic crashes onto the floor. The walls, once thought to be such an unassuming grey seemed to press inwards, a claustrophobic squeezing that tried to enclose the two running men. Despite their fear of the room they had just left, no sound followed them down that corridor; no radio buzzed and no screeching was heard. The eerie quietness was only broken with the sound of their own laboured breaths and slapping feet, echoing around those otherwise deserted corridors. 

 

They pounded further onwards, and on the walls around them cracks began to appear, fine cracks like spiderwebs which spread delicately along the walls in time with the two running men. It was as if the whole radio station was protesting silently against their escape, as flecks of plaster from the ceiling fell towards their eyes, posters fluttered off of the walls to assault their faces and light bulbs plummeted, shattering on the ground in splatters of glass. They avoided the shards, and averted their eyes away from the dense black spaces that the fallen light bulbs had left behind. Cecil's hand was like an anchor in this strange and terrifying world, and Carlos held on with all of his might. 

 

They turned a corner and the cracks on the wall followed suit, their spidery thinness expanding into harsh lines which ran into each other, causing more bits of plaster to cast down to the ground, peppering their path with splotches of grey which coated their shoes. Both men knew that escape was close by, and yet each furiously beating heart was clutched with fear as they saw one last obstacle- Station Management's office. 

 

There it loomed, up ahead in that gloomy corridor, its unfathomable presence invading their minds with thoughts of despair and woe. There was nothing for it- they must pass the doorway if they ever hoped to leave this damned place, and both men sped up so they could get this ordeal over and done with. The door was shut, no dark and ominous shape writhed behind the fogged glass, and yet this somehow made it all the more sinister. Without realising it, both men held their breath as they ran past, that dreaded door a blur in an already indistinct corridor. 

 

However, as Cecil's feet left the boundary of the doorway, he ground to a sudden halt. The scientist stumbled behind him at the sudden loss of momentum, almost shooting past Cecil's suddenly rigid frame. His hand fell away from Carlos's warm and reassuring grip to clutch at his head, his fingers shaking as he did so. He let out a groan and Carlos, panting heavily, drew up closer to him.

 

"Cecil? What's wrong?"

"My head, oh…" his eyes were squeezed tightly, the utter pain causing the words to be forced out of his mouth, "It hurts. Oh god- it _hurts_!" 

 

Carlos placed a tentative hand on the broadcaster's arm, hating himself for having to ignore Cecil's pain, but the fissures around them were ever widening, spreading thickly around that weathered looking door in twisting curves, and he knew they should not have stopped. The fact that Cecil had done so without meaning to was alarming to say the least. 

 

"We need to go- we can't stay outside here."

 

Cecil nodded, biting his lip. He tried going forwards, but his movements were like those of someone trapped in quicksand- the faster he attempted to move, the slower his progress became. Somehow, the door seemed to be exerting a sort of hold onto him, casting almost invisible fingers that clawed at his body and prevented escape. Seeing Cecil struggling against this unseen menace gave Carlos a very, very bad feeling indeed. He squeezed Cecil's arm.

 

"Cecil, are you-"

 

"They want me to stay." His words were forced out, almost strangled in his attempt to speak, "I can tell, oh, I don't know how, but they want me to stay _so much_."

 

The thought of Station Management having some sort of unseen connection with Cecil frightened Carlos more than he could say, and he realised that escaping with Cecil might ultimately result in his doom. And yet, as he gazed upon that shaking figure, he could see Cecil trying to fight, to throw this unseen enemy away from him, and he knew that he could not be abandoned. 

 

"Cecil, listen to my words, okay? Try not to think of anything else, just listen to me." He took the broadcaster's hand again, feeling the shaking fingers beneath his own firm grip. "Can you do that?"

 

With a visible effort, Cecil nodded. Carlos took the lead this time, and he could feel how much effort it took the other man to move his legs, those limbs which had betrayed him. He spoke words of encouragement, meaningless little phrases that popped into his head as he sought to distract the struggling man from the unseen force assaulting him. With a herculean effort, and with his neck adorned with swift-moving tattoos straining, Cecil moved a step forwards. Out of the range of the doorway he seemed to stumble, and Carlos moved onwards, steadily tugging at his hand. As they walked away from the door, the fractures from the wall moved onto the floor, the jagged lines attempting to trip their darting feet. They furiously attempted to dodge this menace, Carlos noticing that Cecil still clutched his head in apparent agony, and after a few moments of struggling the exit honed into view. 

 

Sunlight hit them with shards of pure brilliance, feeling heavenly after the dank corridors of the station. They were free, free of the perils that lay in wait, and Carlos turned to his partner to share the victory with him. But Cecil's eyes were no longer screwed up in pain, and Carlos's mouth flew open in shock as he looked into his face.

 

Where there should have been pupils and irises, there was instead the malevolent grey static buzzing angrily in the broadcaster's eyes, exactly the same as those citizens in the vicious mob. Carlos felt like he was falling, falling away from all reason and justice as the one person who he cared about most in this hellish town looked at him with such a frightening gaze. The only difference from those identical eyes of the angry citizens was that Cecil seemed to be aware of the change that had happened to him, as his expression was confused rather than slack-jawed and vacant. 

 

"C-c-c-carlos-" he whimpered, "I don't understand-" 

 

He shook his head futilely, as if this would dispel the static. _Not Cecil_ , was all Carlos's desperate mind could shout, as any thought of trying to solve the situation was buried underneath a deep and pervading panic. His one last hope, the only person he thought he could depend on, _gone._ He had thought that Cecil, being such an important part of the radio station, would be immune to this mind-controlling static, but maybe…maybe he was their prize piece, the sneaking pawn in their elaborate game. 

 

Feeling that hope was now truly lost, Carlos prepared to back away from the whimpering man in front of him, knowing his last protector had been overcome. But, as he moved, the broadcaster's eyes flickered, and in an instant the static was gone, leaving his eyes back to their usual purplish colour. Cecil staggered towards Carlos who dodged sideways to avoid him, watching numbly as his long legs almost tripped over each other as he tried to walk forwards. As he attempted to regain his balance, his eyes shifted back to the static, now crackling loudly and viciously as if doubly angry that he had attempted to overthrow it. Carlos was frozen in place, unable and unwilling to help.

 

But Cecil, gripping his temples with straining hands, gave a snarl, his sharp looking teeth menacing in his usually jovial face. He was staring into the distance, at whom Carlos did not know, but his absolute fury was searing in its intensity.

 

" _No_ , I won't do it!" His voice boomed around the empty streets, " _I won't_!"

 

He roared as in retaliation to his shouts his eyes became searingly bright, two pinpricks of light that were intense even in the strong sunlight of the day. His hands gripped his head so tightly, and Carlos gasped as he saw dark shapes moving across his face; Cecil's tattoos had moved onto his neck and were sliding protectively towards his changed eyes. He had never seen them so high up before, these inky, intricate tentacles that seemed to caress his skin, that _were_ his skin. He couldn't help but shiver, it was beginning to become too much for him, too strange and petrifying. He wanted to help but knew he could not, but he also wanted to run far, far away: these feelings assaulted him, and yet he knew he had no choice but to stay rooted on the spot.

 

But, perhaps the caressing tattoos imbued Cecil with renewed strength, as the painful brightness seemed to be dimming, forming again into that dull grey static. Cecil shouted one last time, the exact words were indistinct but ripped through the air, assaulting Carlos's ears with the pure volume of it. When his shout had faded into the distance, his eyes were blessedly back to normal, and Cecil stood panting, utterly spent. Carlos remained frozen, unspeaking.  

 

 Hand shaking, Cecil brought it up to his face, nervously caressing the skin around his eyes.

 

"Did my eyes, were they-"

"Full of static, yes." 

 

Carlos was surprised at how matter of fact his voice was; it was laughable, really, as his mind was so full of panicked screaming, telling him to leave _now,_ to get away from this mysterious and unexplainable being in front of him. Cecil looked winded, as if the information had punched a hole deep inside his chest, sucking his very breath. Somehow, he had felt a presence inside of his head, a creeping, uncaring presence which whispered awful things, terrible commands that he knew he must not follow if he ever hoped for his dear, sweet Carlos to be safe. As he had ripped his mind away from that awful, gripping control he had sensed an anger so vast that it had threatened to consume him. But, he had not succumbed. It had taken every ounce of his strength and courage, but he had not succumbed to that terrible menace. There was a far away look in his eyes as he spoke.

 

"I could feel it. And I could feel _them."_ Their eyes met, and in that moment, Carlos wasn't sure whether he preferred the buzzing static over this cold, dead look. "They want you so badly, Carlos. So very, _very_ badly."

 

It was as if his stomach had been filled with acid; worry and fear beat through him, these vitriolic feelings consuming all other emotions and rendering him quite helpless. The knowledge that an unseen force had been attempting to take control of Cecil had already caused fear to rise within him, but as Carlos thought about Cecil's words, really _thought_ about them, he remembered their futile escape through the radio station, the use of the radios in their pursuit. There was no need to ask who 'they' were; the menacing tentacles of Station Management swam in Carlos's mind, coiling and uncoiling with malicious intent. Carlos had known Cecil for a while now, and although the broadcaster seemed to only be frightened of a few things, Station Management were definitely high on top of this list. He shivered, realising he had no real idea of what they were up against.

 

"Cecil, please tell me what's going on. I-I've been trying to make sense of it all, but I just don't _understand_. And it's scaring me." 

 

The loveliness of the day was wasted on them. Cecil looked down at the beautiful, worried man before him, his jet black hair lit with the glorious rays of sunshine, and yet he could not enjoy it. The knowledge of what lay before them settled on his mind like a leaden weight, and yet he knew. It was time to tell him, and no amount of waiting, no amount of lovely, shining sun or soft breeze would save them now. His mind was still in pain from the assault he had faced, and knew if he dallied then Carlos would be facing so much worse. He sighed, cursing that his wonderful morning had descended into such chaos.

 

"I know." The words were weary, so weary, "Let's carry on walking- I'll tell you on the way." He turned to move away from the radio station, pausing when he realised the other man was still unmoving.  "Carlos?"

 

The scientist's eyes flickered in his direction, and although he quickly attempted to disguise it, Cecil caught the fear present in those wide orbs. The other man did not say anything, but Cecil knew with a burning feeling of shame that Carlos was scared of him. And, to be perfectly honest, who could blame him? He could only imagine what he had looked like, and he knew Carlos's tolerance of the 'strange' or 'unusual' didn't stretch particularly far. His lips tightened, and he looked away from that scorching despair, knowing it was he who had caused this fear.

 

Stood a safe distance away form him, Carlos's mind was filled with the image of Cecil's glowing eyes, the knowledge that he had been so close to losing the struggle; who knew when it would happen again? And, if it did…he wasn't sure if he would he be able to bring himself to fight Cecil as Josie had battled the murderous mob.

 

But, for now, he was just Cecil, his usually jolly expression hidden under a mask of sadness, a transformation which Carlos could not stand to look at. He had been forgetting- Cecil was a victim in this situation, just as he was. Fear was so present in Carlos's heart, but burning even more fiercely than that awful feeling was love, love for the man who frightened him but who was his partner, his Cecil. His words stumbled over each other as he hastened to explain himself. 

 

"Look, I'm sorry, it's just…what if it happens again? If you try and attack me I won't be able to, I can't-" The thought of attacking Cecil was vile, indecent, and the words burned like bile in his mouth, heavy and hot. At his words, Cecil's expression softened a minute amount.

 

"Dearest Carlos, I would not blame you if it came to that." He looked downwards at his hands which were balled into fists. "It seems I have…misjudged the situation." At the confused look he received, he carried on in a broken voice, "It is no longer safe here, and I cannot hope to protect you."

 

"Cecil-"

"I'm going to have to," he gulped, "Let you leave Night Vale."

 

The words hung heavy in the air, hovering between them with a tension so palpable Carlos felt like it was a wall between them. Leave Night Vale? But, Cecil adored his home, and he was such a big part of the town; the thought of the place without him was very strange indeed, wrong even. Carlos ran a hand through his hair, the glorious, dark curls cascaded across his hands as he frowned. 

 

"But…but you _love_ this town."

"Carlos," That voice, usually so sonorous, shook, "I won't be coming with you." 

 

Again, silence. Carlos could not comprehend this, could not believe Cecil, _Cecil_ of all people was telling him to leave without him. The world was shaking, everything was wrong. They stood facing each other, two dark shapes on the street. 

 

"No. No, you can't mean that-" 

"I can't protect you-" 

"I don't care!"

"Well, I _do_!" Cecil shouted this, his previously broken voice now a blast of desperate anger, making the scientist take a wary step back. At his flare of temper, Carlos saw some of his tattoos emerge again from under his sleeve, roiling in agitation as his voice echoed throughout the empty streets. "I've already failed my promise to protect you-" 

"Ce-" 

"And The Harvester," Cecil looked quite mad, his narrowed eyes piercing the place in Carlos's pocket where the letter was concealed, "I can't protect you against The Harvester, no one can. It's an impossible task, and I-I can't… I'm not _strong_ enough."

 

He walked past Carlos, facing determinedly forwards, his body heaving with the effort of trying not to cry. He did not slow down, so Carlos had no choice but to follow him, his long lab coat flapping as he jogged.  

 

"Cecil." He did not stop. " _Cecil_!"

 

A light wind ruffled the sparse trees which occasionally lined the streets of Night Vale, the sun highlighted reflective stones set deep into the concrete of the pavement. All of those inconsequential, everyday things seared in Carlos's mind, and he knew that he could not leave it; he could not leave Cecil behind. He had a choice, he had always had a choice, and Carlos knew what he had chosen, the day he had swallowed his fears and kissed the broadcaster in a fervent kiss under the moonlight. The tall figure was moving swiftly away from him, and it would be so easy, so very easy to go in the opposite direction, to get the hell out of this bewildering town, perhaps alone but maybe safe. 

 

He ran towards Cecil, stopping in front of him and holding up a hand in front of his patterned waistcoat to prevent him from advancing any further. Although he was shorter, somehow Carlos seemed to loom over the broadcaster, his furious expression effectively gluing him to the spot.

 

"I don't understand what the _hell_ is going on." He waved his hand, cutting off whatever Cecil was about to say, "But I do know one thing. I need _you_ Cecil, so you can stop trying to run away."

"I'm not-" Cecil spluttered, "I'm not running away!"

"Well, it sure as hell looks like it."

 

Cecil fumed for a few seconds, then realised the truth in Carlos's words. 

 

"Fine. Let's stay together, for now at least."

"Good, and you can finally tell me about this Harvester on the way."

 

Cecil nodded and, casting nervous looks around them, they continue onwards on their futile journey. They moved quickly through the streets, knowing that they had been dallying for far too long and speaking far too loudly, but each was glad that they had decided to remain together. They made quick progress through those empty roads, the light wind soothing against their hot and battered bodies. The heat of the day was beginning to creep up on them, not yet stifling but warm enough to make Carlos wish they could knock on a door of a friendly citizen's house and beg for a drink, or at least a cool place to shelter. But the mismatched houses loomed with blank windows, and while the complete absence of people was at first comforting, it was now becoming very disturbing, a bad feeling that tugged at his mind. Carlos felt like they should have been confronted by at least someone by now, but they moved on unassailed, wiping the sweat off their foreheads. 

 

At first they had walked with an uncomfortable sort of silence, both men waiting for the other to speak first. They advanced onwards, and Cecil saw out of the corner of his eye Carlos scrunching his hand up in his pocket, the panic so clear in his face that he felt it pierce his heart. He knew Carlos must have his hand enclosing that dreaded letter and his own fingers twitched to take Carlos's beautiful hand away from such danger, from such vitriolic words. Cecil sighed heavily and spoke with unusual delicacy, as if he thought that if he talked too loudly then whatever pursued them would find them quicker.

 

"There are a few things that I feel that I should explain." Carlos looked up eagerly, glad that he had chosen to speak first, "That letter you received, that god awful, hateful, _vile_ thing, mentions The Harvester." He paused, and his extreme reluctance to carry on speaking was obvious, "Or to address the matter properly, The Harvester of Hearts." 

 

Though the breeze was light, the sparse trees seemed to quiver in time with Cecil's own shudder of hate as he spat the words out, and even Carlos felt a pang of fear at the name that the broadcaster had mentioned. It was a strange thing, for Carlos was quite sure that he had never heard the name before in his life, and yet something tugged at his mind, a feeling of utter disquiet that caused a sense of dread to rise inside of him.

 

"The Harvester of Hearts?" Even as the whisper escaped him, Carlos regretted saying them. They seemed almost secret, cursed words that floated away from his mouth and onto the wind, to be carried who knew where. "W-who exactly are they?"

 

Carlos hoped the name wasn't quite as literal as it sounded, but Night Vale usually delivered on the strange and unusual. And, as Cecil shook his head sadly, Carlos saw his expression and knew. He knew it was going to be utter hell. 

 

"Oh Carlos, my sweet, innocent Carlos." He sighed, "Every citizen dreads that most fearful of envelopes; the scarlet envelope. I never," He had to stop for a moment as the words died in his throat, "…I never _dreamed_ you would get one." 

 

Carlos didn't speak; he waited for Cecil to elaborate, to explain why he looked like his partner had just been condemned to death. Numbly, Carlos realised this was probably extremely accurate. But the other man seemed lost in his thoughts, so Carlos coughed pointedly, breaking him out of his reverie. Cecil blinked, then steadied himself for what he was about to say.

 

"The Harvester of Hearts, well, for a non-citizen of Night Vale it's pretty difficult to explain."  He cast about for inspiration, and his eyes inevitably fell onto Carlos. His voice took on a dreamlike quality, similar to the tone he affected when he ended his radio show with those eloquent, philosophical points,

 

"You are light, Carlos. To me, anyway. You are the fast beating star moving its celestial path through the catastrophic heavens, you are the soft glow of the lampshade when the evening draws to an end and you are left in your bed with only that subtle light to remind you that, in this damnable world, you are not alone." His face twisted, and his tones followed suit, the words spat out with a venom that was vicious to behold. "The Harvester of Hearts is none of these things. The Harvester is the dark crack you see in your wardrobe as you lie in bed waiting to succumb to the gentle mistress that is sleep, warning that monsters lurk in the deepest of places. The Harvester is that soft blow to the stomach which spreads, oh how it spreads, when you are told that a loved one has just passed away." The words faded into the breeze, and, shuddering under the weight of them Cecil continued, his voice barely more than an anguished whisper, "The Harvester is death, Carlos."

 

"D-death?" 

 

Carlos could not help it; his voice was high with fear, and his breathing quickened, making his chest heave. His heart, possibly because it suspected its days were numbered, beat in his chest like a trapped bird as he processed those awful words. Cecil was looking at him as he had never looked at him before; his face had never been so empty of hope. 

 

"Yes, death. Although, perhaps death is not the right term for what the Harvester does to you."

 

" _Cecil_." Carlos was feeling so very frustrated now- when would Cecil stop being so vague? He wanted to shake him, to extract the information he so needed. "You're not making any sense. What exactly does-"

"They take your heart." Cecil could barely get the words out, "They take it from you, they rip it from you, they _destroy_ it." 

"No-" 

"We must watch. We cannot, we _must not_ interfere."

"Oh god, oh god."

 

Carlos stopped, and his feet made puffs of dust rise from the pavement, which swirled around them. He looked at Cecil, at the man who he thought would be his protector, who had as good as told him there was nothing they could do. He had condemned Carlos, perhaps without meaning to, but his words were a death knell.

 

 "Oh god, they're going to take my heart? Cecil, please, _please_ -" He did not want to beg, how much he hated begging, but Carlos felt trapped, a weak little sheep being led to the slaughter. At his cracked words, Cecil's face softened an infinitesimal amount. 

 

"They aren't going to take your heart, my dear Carlos." 

 

There was a beat of silence as the other man stared at him incredulously, hardly daring to believe these unexpected words.

 

"What? But, but you-" 

"No, they will not be taking your heart." Light eyes met dark, panic met hopeless despair, "They are going to take mine. You are my heart, Carlos, and they want you so very badly."

 

The words, incredibly, were a tiny drip of relief in an ocean of uncertainty. Carlos, unconsciously or not, had a hand laying on his chest, seemingly to protect the muscle that beat so furiously beneath.

 

"So they don't actually take your heart? What is it exactly that they do, then?"

 

Cecil sighed again, "We do not know; perhaps they _do_ remove your heart, perhaps not. When they take the sacrifice from us, we do not see them again. I have heard one theory, however…" He gulped and did not elaborate. Feeling extremely hesitant, Carlos piped up, his voice taking on a keening note,

 

"Cecil?"

"Hooded Figures."

 

Carlos thought back to those miserable creatures doomed to roam the Dog Park, trapped in an eternity of loneliness and being ignored by the rest of the world; a forbidden and hated entity. 

 

"No."  He knew his words would make absolutely no difference to the situation, but he absolutely refused to believe that this miserable fate would happen to him. He looked at Cecil and repeated himself firmly, "No."

 

"It is, as I say, only a theory. Personally, I do not really believe it, as I am sure that we would recognise somebody we loved amongst even that damnable crowd."

 

"Okay, so they might take my heart; they might not. They might turn me into a Hooded Figure; they might not. But one thing is for certain- I will most probably die. What an _excellent_ day this is turning out to be."

 

There was a silence after his angry words faded, as Cecil clenched his jaw and looked away from him. Carlos knew he was being cruel, but every time Cecil spoke it seemed to be offering more doom with no hope of him ever being saved. His hand brushed his pocket once more, and the desire to tear the letter from it and destroy the vile thing was strong, but he resisted the urge. He thought about Cecil's words, about the scarlet menace that was the source of their trouble.

  

"One thing I don't understand," He began, with a frown, "Is that the letter had my name on it. If they're taking your heart, why was my name on the letter?" 

"Your name is on the letter because you are the one they have chosen to be sacrificed. And it's my fault, all my fault." He beat his fist on the side of his leg in hopeless anger, "You cannot be chosen unless you are loved by someone so much, so completely that it burns them to behold it. It burns them, and they desire it over anything else." Another tear dripped down his face. "All my fault."

 

Carlos stood there watching more tears fall in steady rivulets down Cecil's face, hearing his confession, and yet he could not summon any anger towards him. Fear made him want to act, and he knew that descending into despair would get them nowhere and would not save him. They needed to do something, anything was better than remaining here and doing nothing. Carlos spoke, and he was surprised at how steady his voice was, how clinical.

 

"Come on, we can't stop here." 

 

Cecil looked up with shining eyes, but Carlos had already moved onwards down the road. They walked for a while, and although he didn't admit it, Carlos was glad when Cecil took the lead as he had no idea where they were headed and Cecil seemed to at least have some semblance of a plan. He had so many questions burning in his mind, each clamouring for position, each equally important. He spoke, and although he tried he couldn't quite keep the coldness out of his voice.

 

"So, they take the people who you love and you just let them? Is no one, ah, _upset_ about that at all?"

 

Cecil looked sideways at him, noticing the sarcasm but choosing to ignore it. His voice was croaky as he spoke, but held a medium of defiance.

 

"Of course we are. But we _must_ allow the sacrifice, otherwise the Harvester will gather the hearts of every citizen until I choose to hand you over. Do you honestly think I could do that? Do you?" 

 

Carlos met his eyes, feeling slightly ashamed.

 

"Of course not."

 

Cecil waved his hand dismissively, and carried on in a despairing voice, 

 

"I don't know why they pick certain people, or why they do it so rarely, and I cannot understand what you have done to deserve this. They usually have a reason, and I cannot think _why_." He gulped. "I've already lost you once this year. I can't…I _can't_ go through that again."

 

They had moved onto a road that Carlos did not recognise, full of dilapidated houses that stood like broken sentinels guarding the road, so empty of life. He wondered vaguely which part of town they were in, but conceded that it would probably be better to hide out somewhere not quite as central as the radio station. The tears had stopped flowing from Cecil's eyes, but his face was still wet from them, shining in the sunlight. He was consumed with the memory of that dreadful day when he had thought that Carlos had died, and the utter pain was evident on his face. Carlos spoke softly.

 

"Hey, we'll get through this. I'll leave Night Vale, _with you,_ and we can go, we can go-" The words faltered in his mouth as he realised he simply could not remember the way out of Night Vale, no matter how much he wracked his brain. In fact, his whole arrival into the town seemed to be fuzzy and indistinct in his memory, which was very odd indeed. He shook his head, dispelling this troubling thought. "We'll have to fight, it's all we can do. Maybe, if we hide out here we can rally the rest of the town to help us. This isn't right, someone should have put a stop to this long ago. It's _barbaric_." 

 

Cecil shook his head sadly.

"The townspeople will not help us."

Feeling deflated, Carlos asked, "Why not?"

 "We must allow it." His voice was a whisper, "It is our most sacred rule- they take who we love and we _must allow it."_

 

And, as he spoke, something about his tone nagged at Carlos, a little tap at his head indicating that something was not quite holding true. They walked past an old abandoned building which somebody had half-heartedly attempted to spruce up with brightly painted windows, now slowly accumulating grime over the years. He looked over at the man walking so despondently beside him and realised, Cecil had said the words not with the anger he had used previously, but as if he had been taught to say it, had been made to say it for years and years. The cogs of his mind whirred until the idea clicked into place.

 

"Cecil, has this happened to you _before_?" 

 

There was a swallow, but Cecil did not answer. He was looking towards the abandoned house, his eyes taking in the smashed windows and walls beaten with dust that must have come with the desert winds. He did not answer Carlos's question, and the scientist could not bring himself to repeat it, although he was desperately curious. Cecil remained staring at the house, and, peculiarly, his face was creased not in sadness, but confusion.

 

"I don't understand." His gaze raked the weeds growing on the porch and the dirtied stone. When he spoke again his voice was disorientated. "Carlos, did you lead us here?" 

 

"What?" He had no idea what Cecil was talking about, "I was following you…you were in front, Cecil!"

 

"But I can't have been." His voice was worryingly faint. "I was aiming…I was aiming for Old Woman Josie's house." 

 

"Oh." Although the layout of Night Vale was confusing, Carlos knew enough about the general area to know that they were on the completely wrong side of town. Slowly, he was beginning to get frightened of Cecil again now, of his faint, dreamlike tones, at his confusion. He looked at the house. "I don't understand where-"

 

"Carlos, why are we at my old home?"

 

The question was sudden and unexpected. Carlos stared at Cecil, really stared at him closely, and as he took in his face he felt his stomach plummet, deep, deep into the ground. They had been walking so fast, both had been so out of breath and distracted by their intense conversation that neither man had noticed that Cecil's hair had flopped onto his forehead, concealing his third eye. 

 

Now that the had stopped and the hair had been swept away, that peculiar third eye was visible, but now this sight filled Carlos with more horror than ever. Once again it was buzzing with static, the sinister grey practically shining out from where it had been concealed. But who knew how long it had been doing this for? Had it been controlling Cecil, subtly making sure that he had been thrown off his intended path and towards this isolated location? But Cecil had seemed so _normal_ ; nothing had hinted that his third eye had been buzzing malevolently as they had made their escape.

 

Carlos knew in that instant that he was trapped, but even so he attempted to move backwards, to slip behind the house and back to the road, to who knew where but at least away from that menacing eye. But, Cecil looked up at his movement, and there was a flash; in an instant, Carlos saw that the eye knew he had understood what was going on. And Cecil, gentle Cecil, was still half-there, his normal eyes confused and unfocused. 

 

"I didn't want to come here. I never wanted to come back. Why are we here?"

 

"Cecil-" Panicking, Carlos stepped backwards and, with lethal speed, Cecil darted forwards and grabbed him, his arms inhumanly strong and crushing. He looked quite as surprised as Carlos, staring at his gripping arms in utter astonishment. 

 

"I-I don't…I don't unde-" 

 

There was a screech, a screech so loud and piercing that Carlos felt it reverberate through his very being. Even from this distance he could see the radio tower, and it was lit with a purple so bright it seared his eyes, colouring everything around him in a violent shade of purple. Cecil shuddered with the vibrations, his body seemed to be absorbing the sound, and Carlos could see that he was losing the fight. He struggled desperately against his iron grip, attempting to shout over the cacophony of noise,

 

"Cecil! _Please_ , you need to help me-"

 

"Carlos-" For one second, one infinite, impossible second Cecil's grip was that of a lover, a protective grasp that held Carlos close to his chest rather than apprehended him. But Cecil was the Voice of Night Vale, and Carlos knew how foolish they had been to think that he could just turn his back on the station, that they had escaped so easily. Carlos gazed into those bright eyes and saw  sorrow, that unending, vicious sorrow of a man who knew he had condemned his lover to death.

 

"I can't stop it, I can't stop it, I can't-" Gradually, the purple of his eyes was fading, and he cast one last desperate look at Carlos, knowing that it could be his last. His voice was ripped form his chest, a horrible, inhuman thing, "Carlos, I'm so, so sorry-"

 

There was another crack as the light from the radio tower hit Cecil, throwing his head to his chest with a _snap_. When he looked upwards again, he was no longer Cecil. He was a creature of the radio station, unreachable, and full of an awful power. He looked like a stranger, like an ancient being that Carlos had no hope of ever fighting or escaping from. 

 

Valiantly, Carlos heaved with all of his might against his immense strength, but Cecil only held him closer to his body, cutting off his air supply. His head lowered down so his lips were beside Carlos's ears, and he whispered, his voice deeper, more beautiful and so much more terrible than Carlos had ever heard it before.

 

" _No_." 

 

It was such a simple word, and yet it held a magnitude of power. He began walking, dragging Carlos behind him in such an uncaring way that Carlos knew that the Cecil he so loved was trapped far, far away. He gasped,

 

"Bring Cecil back!"

"No."

 

Helplessly, Carlos tried biting the arm that held him, hating that he was effectively hurting Cecil, but wildly hoping that this might somehow connect to the Cecil he knew and loved. What he didn't expect was for the changed Cecil to grin broadly at him, running his tongue over his already sharp teeth.

 

"Try that again."

 

But Carlos understood the warning and kept his mouth closed, eyeing that maniacal face warily. This Cecil continued to drag him across the hard, dusty pavement, his body cutting a deep track in the dust. Feeling pain assault his limbs again, he shouted.

 

"Cecil will fight, you know. He'll fight, and the whole town will shake." 

The changed Cecil laughed, and it was a twisted thing.  

"Carry on believing in your fairytales, sweetest, _dearest_ Carlos." Carlos's insides sickened at the familiar endearment. "After all, it's all you're going to have left."

 

He stopped just outside of the dilapidated house, Cecil's apparent childhood home, and his eyes were closed reverently as he leaned into the wind, seemingly listening for something. Carlos was limp, he did not know what to do, he did not know what to _do_ -

 

There was a _bong_ from inside the house, utterly out of place in their arid environment. Carlos frowned, it sounded just like a grandfather clock, but that was impossible; it had to be.

 

The Cecil holding him sighed with relish, looking down at Carlos with those unfathomable, unreachable eyes.

 

"No need to worry. The Harvester is coming."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.s I run a Night Vale themed blog on tumblr now, where I add writing and headcanons and the like, if that interests you at all :) 
> 
> It's http://sexybaldwin.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh maaaan I'm so sorry this chapter took so long to be written! I've been having quite a lot of personal problems at the moment, and I've had so little time to do writing due to humungous amounts of uni work. But I've tried my best, and I hope this chapter is alright.
> 
> It is unbeta'd and hastily edited, so apologies for any possible spelling mistakes. But it was written with love (or evil, it's so easy to mix the two).
> 
> For any queries or to prod me into writing faster, here's my wtnv tumblr: http://sexybaldwin.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)

 

Time felt infinite, stretched; the sounds of the day seemed overly drawn out, and everything appeared to move with exaggerated slowness. Carlos did not know whether this was because that ominous _bong_ had been a death knell, signalling that his life might soon be at an end, that he had to enjoy these few precious seconds that he had left, but every movement seemed sluggish and unreal. The maniacal parody of Cecil that gripped him so hard was statuesque in his stillness, the side of his head tipped as if he was listening to a distant sound on the wind. The arm that held him in place was flung across his chest, Cecil's fingernails digging into the material of his lab coat over his furiously beating heart. He did not want the hand there, it did not feel like a good omen and he did _not_ like the way the fingers almost seemed to caress in time with the beats, but he knew he would not be able to throw it off. 

  

They stood there together, two dark shapes huddled on the weather worn doorstep, at this strange place which had so frightened Cecil before his mind had been overtaken. There was such an air of abandonment and disrepair that Carlos shuddered to think what it had been that had forced Cecil and his family out of it, what disaster must have befallen them. With a pang, he realised that he had never asked Cecil about his family, and the enormity of this realisation was like a punch to the chest. By all accounts, it was far too late now.

 

There seemed to be a subtle shift to the wind; at first Carlos noticed his hair lightly blowing around this face, frowning as it was gradually whipped into a frenzy of movement. Dust whirled as it was picked up by the roiling wind, spinning in circles and obscuring most of the landscape around them; it was as if they were on an isolated island in a sea of dust, waiting for the oppressive waves to roll in and consume them. Vague, dark shapes seemed to be coalescing in the midst of the dust, and Carlos heard an excited, sharp intake of breath from the man holding him. One shape seemed to loom above all others, and both men gave a gasp of shock as a figure stepped out of the dark cloud, but both for very different reasons.

 

It was Old Woman Josie, angel-less and with eyes of static visible even behind her dark glasses, the sight making Carlos's heart plummet to the very pits of despair. It seemed she had lost the fight, if those menacing eyes were anything to go by, but to his surprise Cecil seemed just as shocked as he was, angry even. He snarled, his voice a ripping mockery of those once sonorous tones,

 

"What are _you_ doing here? Where is the Harvester?"

 

She turned her inscrutable gaze upon him, and when she spoke it was with Josie's voice, and yet it was not Josie's voice that could be heard at all. It sounded like her, and yet her tones contained a ringing note that nagged at Carlos's ears, that warped the sound to something strange and unknowable. 

 

"The Harvester is…indisposed."

 

Cecil gave a shriek of rage, and Carlos winced as his grip became even harder.

 

"What? But, that's _impossible_ -"

 "This one," Josie pointed at herself, "Lodged an Appeal, with angelic intervention, before we could stop her."

 

Somehow, her calm tones, so very different to Cecil's spitting rage, frightened Carlos more than he could say. He had a terrible feeling that whoever was in possession of Josie was extremely powerful, as she did not inflect her voice with much strength, yet it was obvious that she did not need to. Even so, Cecil's teeth were gritted in annoyance as he attempted to stare her down.

 

"But, the Harvester-"

 "Must abide by the rules as much as the citizens do." Her tones were crisp, clinical, as if they were discussing a simple judicial matter, "It is most irregular, but the appeal has been validated."

 

Cecil shook his head in disbelief; Carlos could feel the movement behind him, "This has never happened before. We have _never_ been prevented from harvesting a heart. I don't-" He paused, and Carlos felt him bring one of the arms clutching around his body to his head, squeezing his eyes shut in apparent pain. Josie stared, impassive.

 

"What is the matter?"

 "This vessel is putting up more of a fight than I expected," He sounded surprised about this, "He is trying to regain his mind; I can feel him struggling."

 

For one moment, for one ludicrous, shining moment, Carlos's heart beat with a small semblance of hope. In the dark corners of his mind, he had wondered if Cecil really was being controlled or whether he had been part of some sort of sick charade and this was the real Cecil which had been revealed to him. It had been an awful, sickening thought, and he was disgusted with himself for even thinking it, but the changed Cecil's words had imbued him with this small, hopeful thought. He gave a sigh of relief, he hadn't even realised he had been holding his breath, and those eyes of static noticed the man sagging in his arms. He leered at Carlos, removing his hands from his chest and moving them swiftly onto his neck. Drawing him upwards by the throat, he hissed a whisper in his ear,

 

"He will not win."

 

Carlos scrabbled at his throat desperately, that uncaring hand squeezing with deliberate slowness. He was beginning to feel faint, the world was becoming blurred as he gasped and spluttered, and Josie looked on, bored.

 

"Stop."

 

 Reluctantly, Cecil drew his hand away, dragging the nails almost lovingly down Carlos's skin as he did so. Still gasping for air, Carlos made a dart to the side but those arms with their inhuman strength caught him again, and Cecil laughed at the man who was caught as easily as a fly in a web. Josie took a step away from the still spinning cloud of dust and towards their little island, her shoes making a soft clack on the ground. Carlos could feel the horrific gaze of those buzzing eyes upon him, and he tried his best to shrink away from her.

 

"You are Carlos the Scientist, are you not?"

 

He tried to answer, but the combined toll of the arm squeezing his throat and the tentacles made of sound from hours before rendered his voice weak and unstable. He coughed, willing his voice to work so that he did not have to face the disapproval of this familiar yet menacing figure any longer. 

 

"Yes, but my surname-"

 "That is irrelevant. This is your name in Night Vale."

 

Carlos simply stared at her, unable to form a coherent sentence. It was very odd indeed to be regarding such a kindly soul as Josie with this level of fear, but he was frightened, oh so frightened. She waited for him to speak, but when it was obvious that he was not going to she continued, "And you are not a native citizen to Night Vale?"

 

"No." Cecil gave a sharp intake of breath in sudden understanding,

 "Ah, the snag. I see the problem now."

 

She ignored him, her attention focused directly on the man shrinking in away from her, "Carlos the Scientist, you have been chosen to be the Harvest, and yet you are not a native to our town. In accordance with your appeal, you shall await Judgement."

 

Her last word seemed to ring around them, foreboding and intense. Carlos did not like the sound of her words in the slightest; judgement? He gulped, as he knew enough about Night Vale's fickle judicial system to be filled with horror at the idea that he might soon be facing it. He knew how changeable the City Council could be, how unorthodox, which was why in his time as a resident of Night Vale he had desperately endeavoured to follow all of the rules and regulations, no matter how bizarre they seemed at the time. But now, it appeared that he was being punished for something that was completely out of his control, and the sheer unfairness of this was staggering. 

 

Although Carlos knew that he stood absolutely no chance against these powerful beings, he would _not_ just stand there and accept his fate like a good little boy. Reminders of his tendency for reckless courage, the scars on his body gained when he was wounded in the battle with the miniature city for example, seemed livid on his skin. Perhaps these indicated the follies of his actions, and yet Carlos wore them as a talisman, a proud declaration that one must at least try to do the right thing. He would not be silent.

 

It was a little difficult, gripped as strongly as he was in those uncaring arms, but Carlos stood as straight as he could manage, attempting to stare coolly through his glasses the imposing figure in front of him.

 

"And if I refuse?"

 

At his words, Josie's lips quirked the tiniest amount; even this small change to her previously impassive face warped it into something inhuman, indecent. She looked amused, but it was the amusement of a large predator delighted at the fact that their meal had learnt how to talk back, the smile of one that knew that without a doubt they had the upper hand.

 

"You are well within your rights to refuse," Oh no, Carlos did not like the silkiness of that voice _at all,_ "However, if you do…"

 

She let the words hang delicately in the air, inclining her head slightly towards Cecil. He paused for a moment, then realised she was indicating for him to speak, and he leant forwards so that his lips were pressed against Carlos's ear, the cruel words ghosting softly across his cheek as he spoke with obvious relish,

 

"If you do, we will _kill_ Mr Palmer."

 

The grin on Josie's face became positively sharklike as she regarded the straight-backed man before her with his widening eyes, with his mouth hanging open in shock. Of course, Carlos cared greatly about his own life, but he cared for Cecil's more. Even though the thought of being so close to death once more made him tremble, even though Cecil had effectively turned against him, Carlos knew that he valued him more. He forced himself to look into those glowing, gloating eyes and spoke in a quavering voice,

 

"No, please, no."

 

The changed Josie did not answer, but seemed instead to receive his begging with a slight shudder, her expression forming into that cold blankness once more. She tipped her head against the wind as if once again she had heard a distant sound upon it, and this time Carlos strained his ears to catch the elusive sound. After a few moments, he thought he might have caught it, a tinny sort of whistle that tugged at his memories, frustratingly familiar and yet he knew not where it was from. The whistling grew steadily louder, the dust around them coalesced in unison with the noise, twisting and turning, becoming darker…or were there dark shapes forming in the distance? Carlos squinted; it was difficult to focus on the dust in front of his glasses, and yet soon it became clear that looming figures were approaching from behind Josie, the strange whistling heralding their menacing progress. 

 

With great slowness, they stepped out of the dust, and as they came into focus Carlos simply could not believe his eyes. Approaching their little party were four Hooded Figures, looking most out of place now that they had left the familiar environment of the Dog Park; their cloaks of obsidian seemed to drain all colour from the surroundings as they slid across the sand.  Carlos had always been more curious of them than frightened, but as they began to enclose him, silent and terrifying, he wondered if he had been foolish to not have feared them. 

 

The whistling continued, now underlaid with an intense hum, and something in Carlos's mind clicked, and a memory of half listening to Cecil's radio show months ago came to the forefront of his mind, a particular broadcast which had featured something about a sandstorm, a vortex. Somewhat shamefully, Carlos had not really been paying much attention that day as he had been engaged in a very complicated experiment, so the radio had served as a sort of pleasant background noise to his intense lab work. He had felt a vague sort of concern when Cecil had proposed to go through the vortex, but then again a lot of strange things occurred in Night Vale and Cecil almost always emerged triumphant, so he hadn't really given much thought to the matter. Curiously, when he tried to summon any memory at all of that particular show, his thought were hazy and indistinct. He strained his memories, but the attempt was useless. As he waited for those oncoming figures, the dust, which had not faltered with the arrival of the Hooded Figures, seemed to swirl in a circular motion now, fixed at one specific point. He stared at the whirling particles in unadulterated horror at the dawning realisation that this vortex might be for him. 

 

The Hooded Figures had paused now, seeming to wait for further instructions from Josie. She tipped her head back from listening to the sounds of the amalgamating dust and regarded the changed Cecil with a mild distaste.

 

"You may leave now."

 

"What?" He sounded incredulous, and seemed to grasp Carlos tighter to his body in protest, "But, I've been instructed-"

 "Mr Palmer must watch as we take him." He couldn't help it; Carlos gasped at the sheer cruelty of this, "It is the most sacred rule."

 

Cecil narrowed his eyes, looking very much like he wanted to refuse. But, before he could argue further another ominous _bong_ rented the air, emerging somehow from the house behind them, angrier in tone than the last and they all knew it heralded a warning. He threw Carlos roughly away from him, and a Hooded Figure was stood ready to snatch him into its strong grip a safe distance away. 

 

Cecil threw his head backwards, his eyes focused upon the dusty sky above them. There was a crackle of static, light seemed to be pouring from his very eyes, grey, blinding light which leeched the static away, leaving behind the soft and familiar purple. Seeing the transformation, Carlos yelled, but his voice was lost in the sheer volume of the crackles, and he tried in vain to dig his heels into the ground, to defeat his attackers; all attempts were futile. Behind him, the dust roiled once more as it seemed to be coalescing into darkness, into a kind of portal that was a maw of black waiting to consume them. Desperately, he turned back to Cecil.

 

The broadcaster stood there, his face no longer the mask of cruelty that it had been before, but much softer and rather unfocused looking. His chest was heaving, it seemed that he was fighting to breathe in the dust that was swirling around them, or perhaps it was from the effort of trying to throw off the presence invading his mind. Either way, he remained on the spot, far away from Carlos, too far to help. 

  

His mind hurt, oh how much did it writhe in pain, the tendrils of that invading voice leaving trails of agony that burned and made him want to shut his eyes, to just run away into the barren, uncaring desert. But Carlos, dear, innocent, doomed Carlos, was being taken away from him, and he had to, no, he _needed_ to help him. He made to step forwards, the very movement causing an incredible amount of effort, but as he moved a voice invaded his mind, harsh as the desert wind,

 

_You must watch._

 

It was the mantra of ever Night Vale citizen, drummed into their brains even as children, the one scared rule they must follow, otherwise they must face pure catastrophe. He needed to save Carlos, but the thought invaded, white hot, until he forced the words out of his mouth in a whisper full of turmoil,

 

"I must watch."

 

The voice slithered into his mind momentarily, sounding satisfied, 

 

_Good._

 

Even though the wind blasted unforgivingly around them, Carlos somehow caught the strangled whisper from Cecil, but he did not believe it, he would not believe it. Summoning the last of his strength, with his battered and abused throat burning viciously, Carlos screamed,

 

"Cecil, help me! Please, help me!"

 

But Cecil could only watch, frozen in place like a horrorstruck figure of marble. They were almost in the vortex now, Carlos could feel it sucking greedily at his hair, at his clothes, attempting to draw them in that dark and unknown place. He kicked one last time; looking over at this heartbreaking sight, Cecil wanted to say how sorry he was, to beg for forgiveness, but he could not speak in fear that that awful voice would promise him a terrible punishment for the one he so loved. He watched, and he felt his heart would shatter as the last thing he saw on that beautiful face was a scorching look of fear and betrayal.

 

The void enclosed them, softly pulsing energy crackling across Carlos's skin, and his screams disappeared with that swirling mass, lost to the dust and the distance. Cecil remained there, dumbly staring where the vortex had been, his mind furiously working against the fog that pervaded it. Slowly, how painfully slowly, his limbs began to work again and he stumbled forwards onto the dust, landing on his knees as he stared out over that uncaring wasteland. Old Woman Josie was still stood on the threshold of the house, her static filled eyes staring where the vortex had been moment before. The static was fading now, but that terrible, unfathomable voice spoke, and when it did, it was satisfied.

 

"It is done." 

 

 

***

  

Blackness. Dizziness. The Void.

 

Everything seemed suspended; the very air seemed to have disappeared as Carlos was dragged through the vortex, the hand grasping him the only anchor in this strange and unknowable world. He had expected to spin, to heave through the blackness with dizzying speed, but it was as if he was being dragged through tar; the darkness seemed reluctant to let him pass. Perplexingly, the Hooded Figures seemed to be able to move smoothly, and appeared rather infuriated that Carlos was being so unyielding, though he did not know how he was supposed to prevent it from happening. Two of them gripped an arm each, hauling him through the gripping darkness.  

 

Eventually, it was difficult to gauge precisely how long, as it could have been minutes, hours, years for all Carlos knew, a small dot of brightness seemed to shimmer tantalisingly in the distance. The Hooded Figures moved with increased urgency, dragging the scientist behind them with little mercy as they advanced towards their destination. The brightness became searing; they had spent so long in the utter darkness that Carlos had forgotten that it still must be daytime in the outside world. The brightness filled his eyes and he quickly squeezed them shut, but he could still see the blinding whiteness through his closed lids, relying entirely on the figures gripping him to guide him safely out of the vortex. Soft sand connected with his stepping feet, and he stumbled from the unexpectedness of it, at the absence of the smooth, unexplainable floor of the void.

 

It felt both peculiar and strangely familiar to be back in the desert, and as his surroundings swam into focus Carlos knew he was no longer in Night Vale, although he wasn't quite sure where this feeling of certainty came from. Perhaps it was the sun, it seemed too…yellow, somehow. He gazed around at the mounds of equally yellow sand, brighter than the scorching, barren outskirts of Night Vale, wondering desperately where the hell he had been transported to. 

 

He was marched down a path cut into the sand, leading to who knew where, the furiously beating sun once again causing him to sweat under his lab coat. The mounds of sand around them seemed to diminish slightly, and after a little while of walking streets loomed, unexpected and thoroughly empty. It was so strange; the buildings seemed rather pleasant, perhaps even more pleasant than Night Vale with its sometimes haphazard approach to architecture, but once again Carlos felt a creeping sense of unease as he passed the brightly coloured houses. It all seemed very fake somehow, although he could not put his finger on why precisely this was. Before he could wonder much more about this feeling in his gut, they turned a corner and he could not help but gasp at the majestic structure standing monolithically in front of them. 

 

It was unmistakably a radio tower, but Carlos knew that this could not possibly be Night Vale, that there was no chance that this could be the radio station that had once seemed such an interesting and almost harmless place. He felt incredibly confused, as he did not know much about the surrounding areas of Night Vale, but he was certain that he had never heard of another radio station or broadcast beside the one in that strange little desert town. He could only wonder at how far out he must be when he was unceremoniously thrust through the door of the station.

 

Much like the town they had passed through, the inside of the station was quite pleasant, all oak panelling and cheerful decorative mats. But not one single person was present within, and their absence was ominous. In the corner of the room an old fashioned radio was playing a cheerful, jangling tune, and yet somehow even this merry sound felt sinister as it played to the vacated space, to nobody in particular. The Hooded Figures ushered Carlos further within, their dark cloaks looking most out of place as they brushed the vibrantly patterned mats on the floor. 

 

In front of them was a desk, devoid of any sign of a secretary, with only one slightly tarnished bell beside a neat stack of paper. A Hooded Figure beside Carlos reached out a hand and pressed the bell , the tuneful _ding_ sounding sharp in the quietness of the room. They waited for a few moments, but the only sound present was that cheerful yet dreadful music emerging from the radio; Carlos wished someone would just turn it off. The Hooded Figure seemed to grow angry at the prolonged wait and slammed the bell with increased urgency, the ding almost echoing with the increased force of the push. As they waited for the noise to fade out of existence, Carlos cast his eyes around the room in curiosity.

 

They were surrounded by many oak doors, and they seemed oppressive in the otherwise open and pleasant room. Once or twice Carlos thought he _might_ have heard a distant sound coming from them, perhaps they were human voices, but the noises seemed warped and unfamiliar; he hoped desperately that it was just his fraught imagination. The Hooded Figure by the desk looked ready to throw the bell at the wall, but a distant voice floated towards them, lilting and quite lovely,

 

"Oh, I _am_ sorry! I will meet you in a moment; I'm just washing something from my hands."

 

The Hooded Figure tapped its fingers irritably on the desk, and Carlos was left wondering why that voice gave him such a peculiar feeling of familiarity, as he knew, with absolute clarity,  he had never heard it before. This whole place, it's similarity yet difference to Night Vale, it's almost identical radio tower, that singular _voice_ which, inexplicably, made him want to go and find the speaker; all of it filled him with fear, unexplainable and ferocious. He wanted to leave, and yet, something about it drew him in, piqued his curiosity despite his traumatic day. 

 

The sinister music had ceased now, the last jangling note fading into nothingness, and the room seemed to close in on them without the sound to bolster it. Without the music to drawing his mind to its unusual melody, Carlos was free to concentrate wholly on the room, and the more he looked, the more his suspicions that all was not quite as pleasant as it looked were confirmed. There were cracks concealed under the rugs, their spidery thinness visible even from where he was stood, there were slight scratches on the wall as if someone had scraped their fingers delicately across the patterned wallpaper, there seemed to be a stain on the handle of one of the doors, a stain which looked uncomfortably like-

 

"You may come in now, everyone!"

 

That high, too-bright voice cut through his concentration, and Carlos barely had time to protest as he was dragged once again to a door across from the room, a door which had the symbol of an dark eye staring out from a jagged sun; he had not seen it before and the eye seemed to watch his struggle with an imperious stare. Behind the door was a large and twisting corridor which he was pushed down, and as he passed various doors he heard shrieks and then silence, shouts and then nothing. He did not want to go behind a door, he did not, he did _not-_

 

Of course, at the very end of the corridor there was a door waiting for him. It had deep gouge marks disfiguring the wood, a dark and clammy air seemed to hover around the warped surface as he drew nearer, and he wanted to dig his heels into the floor and protest, but those hands grasping him were indomitable and full of purpose; he was dragged quietly to the door, and it swung open to receive him. 

 

Carlos wasn't sure what he had expected, perhaps a room filled with bloodied torture equipment, perhaps a rotting dungeon to keep him while he waited to be judged. What he hadn't expected was a recording booth surrounded by glass walls, the various buttons and dials dimmed and the microphone covered in dust. He was pushed onto the wheeled chair, his arms and legs were bound by unseen ropes as he was spun around to face the door behind him. He realised now; he had been taken to some sort of glass prison to wait, and he coughed and spluttered as his mouth was bound with the rope, the Hooded Figures working delicately and with deliberate swiftness as the sour tasting fabric invaded his mouth. One of them placed a headset onto Carlos's head, squeezing face with a threatening hand as he tried to throw it off. Understanding that he must keep it on, he ceased resistance, attempting to still his trembling body. 

 

One by one, they left the booth, closing the door and locking it with a soft click. Just before they left, one of them switched off the lights, and the only luminescence Carlos was offered was the rapidly diminishing light of the sky from the dirty and dusty window from which he could see the rolling desert, reflecting the light of the dying sun. No one came for him, no one explained anything to him and that elusive voice did not speak again; he was alone with his thoughts, and they spoke only of despair and terror. He was alone. 

 

His eyes flickered from side to side, desperately trying to seek anything that might aid in his escape, no matter how impossible an idea that seemed at the moment. But it was futile, as he could not move an inch from his bindings, and staring out at that darkening landscape offered him no plan, no reassurance that everything was going to be okay. Despair clogged his throat, and he gave a muffled sob through the bindings, the fabric harsh and unyielding against his skin. At the noise, a light amongst the various dials and buttons in front of him gradually blinked into existence, slowly at first until it glowed a bright red in the amalgamating darkness. His eyes were drawn to it, the only indication that he was not alone in this horrific place. 

 

The light shone now with vibrance, and he heard a soft noise behind the locked glass door. Looking up, he saw a figure open the door to the room, his face thrown into shadow by the darkness within, but backlit from the light coming from the corridor behind him. The man was difficult to make out, but as the planes of his face were thrown into relief by the small light, Carlos's eyes widened in recognition. It looked like Cecil, and yet he knew without a shadow of a doubt, with a burning certainty that it was not. However, the face was undeniably similar to Cecil, but he tried to push that thought away; he did not want to think about Cecil ever again, about his careless betrayal, about how he had cast him away for his petty rules. 

 

The figure smiled; Carlos could only tell because those large teeth shone in the darkness like nothing else. Slowly, the man brought a microphone up to his mouth, and Carlos heard the sound through the headset, the high and lilting voice seeming to speak softly and directly into his ears.

 

"Oh, Honey, don't cry." The grin widened, "I'm going to look after you."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I know I'm a broken record but I'm so sorry this is taking so long to write. For some really weird reason I've been finding it a bit difficult, but I really, really want to tell this story! So it will be written- you'll just have to bear with me. I'm sorry it takes me longer to update than it does for an actual ep to come out!
> 
> Also, I'm so, so sorry for how I treat Carlos. I am unforgivable. 
> 
>  
> 
> As always, thank you for your lovely comments and for reading, it really does make my world go round!

 ***

 

 

 

"The stars are a _lie_ , blistering fires that leave bleeding entrails across the uncaring void. W-w-"

 

The once sonorous voice faltered; there was the audible sound of a hand being clasped to a face as the radio host attempted to pull himself together. There was a brief pause, and the voice continued, cracking slightly as he forced himself to say the familiar words,

 

"W-welcome to Night Vale."

 

As the introductory music tinkled its mysterious tunes, Cecil buried his face in his hands, clutching tightly at his hair and taking large gulps of air to steady himself. Everyone in Night Vale who was in earshot of the radio felt an immediate sense of discomfort as his struggling voice had emerged from that morning's broadcast; although almost everyone had been overtaken by the menacing static, whispers of Carlos's disappearance had spread like wildfire throughout the town, a dark sort of gossip that leaked into every conversation like a miasma. Anyone who had spotted the utterly despondent figure of Cecil walking to the radio station had avoided him carefully, and in turn he had kept his eyes to the ground, his usually bouncing and enthusiastic steps replaced by a tortured sort of trudge. He spoke to no one, and in turn he was ignored.

 

But now, he was being forced to broadcast, forced to speak to the very public that he so wished to avoid. As Cecil continued to take deep breaths, he heard a quiet but deliberate tapping from the corner of the room, soft enough not to be picked up by the microphone, but present nonetheless. He did not need to look up to see what the source of it was; ever since he had been brought back to the centre of the town, he had been followed by at least one hooded figure, a silent but menacing surveyor of his every move. Nobody had said anything to him yet, not a single threat was issued, but each time he did something which even slightly seemed to elicit displeasure, the hooded figure would turn its hollow gaze upon him and tap, tap, tap on a nearby surface. He got the message.

  

And so, with one last huff of breath, he lifted his hands from their grasping position on his hair and leaned closer towards the microphone, carefully avoiding crumpling the sheets of paper containing the morning's topics. He mustered himself, trying his utmost to cudgel his voice into its usual cheery tones, the false happiness feeling like poison in his mouth.

 

"Good morning, listeners." To his relief, his voice no longer wobbled; for the moment, his pretense was adequate, and this fact gave him the strength to continue, "I think we will begin today by looking at the community calendar. And _what_ a calendar it is proving to be!" 

 

It almost sickened him how easy it was to get back into the swing of the radio show, to push all of the awful memories away with words of information, of advice, to lose himself in the familiar feeling of presenting. The words tumbled almost effortlessly from his mouth, and he held onto them like a lifeline, knowing if he dared bring his thoughts away from the job then he would dwell on pointless despair. So, he diligently carried on, although the image of that hurt and betrayed face burned in his mind like a long distant star, constant and unwavering.

 

He was halfway through introducing Traffic when the door was quietly slid open, and a figure pattered into the room on tiptoes, clearly attempting make as little noise as possible. It was an Intern Ayesha, and she looked absolutely terrified as she delicately approached the waiting Cecil, her hands clutched nervously around a sheath of paper. She handed over the burden with haste, mouthing the words 'Station Management' to Cecil with wide, horrified eyes before scuttling out of the door as fast as her legs could carry her. 

 

Feeling dread coiling through his body, Cecil held the papers up to his face and tried to scan them quickly, knowing with absolute certainty that if he dallied too long or simply refused to read out what was given to him, then the consequences would be too dire to comprehend. But he had already taken too long, as even though he had not had enough time to read what was on the sheets he could heard that incessant tapping beginning again, clearly displeased that he had paused for so long. He had no desire to cause even more trouble, so he hastily moved the microphone towards his face and spoke quickly,

 

"Sorry about the delay, listeners! I have just been handed some new information; shall we see what news has befallen our little town?" He cleared his throat, bringing the first paper to his face and scanning it quickly,

 

"The City Council wants us to know that scientists-" He paused in shock, the unexpected word leaping out at him from the page. Behind him, the hooded figure shifted, so he spoke louder and with urgency, "T-that scientists have been outlawed from Night Vale." He closed his eyes briefly before reading the next part aloud, the cruel words feeling hot and heavy in his mouth, "Furthermore, any citizen caught partaking in the act of science will be…will be arrested and submitted for re-education."

 

He paused again, his mind assaulted with the mental imagery of Carlos's team of scientists who would surely be listening to the radio in their lab without choice, their certainly horrified and shocked faced filling his mind. He could not save them, he could not even save Carlos, that which he most loved, so how could he even hope to help? The other citizens of Night Vale, now abandoning their day's duties as they huddled around their various radio devices, understanding the importance of this occasion, felt a twinge of sympathy for Cecil, at what it must be costing him to say these vile words. But to argue would be the deepest folly, so every person maintained a terse sort of silence, anticipating Cecil's words with a sense of dread that pervaded the whole town.

 

Cecil moved the second paper to the forefront, wondering if there could possibly be anything worse on this apparently doom laden pile of information. He read quickly, 

 

"Also, all timepieces are hereby declared as Class A dangerous materials, and must be submitted to the Sheriff's Secret Police for inspection and validation. As they are now seen as property of the government, they may not be returned." 

As he finished speaking, his eyes caught the wristwatch on his arm which reflected the flashing buttons on his dashboard, his one and only reminder of Carlos that he had left in the world, the one reminder that days had once been sweet, had once held the potential for beauty and happiness. _No, no, no,_ he thought. _Please no_. But he had to carry on, he had to. 

 

"Any mention of scientists or timepieces are punishable by law. This has been a statement from the City Council."

 

Of course, that was the name given on the sheet. But since when did the City Council use such ancient paper, such viciously sharp letters written in a red ink that looked both distressingly familiar and uncomfortably like blood? The City Council may have a hand in this, but Cecil suspected a different culprit, although he wasn't fool enough to voice his suspicions. There were no more bulletins left on the paper to read out, and although the words he had been forced to speak had been unpalatable, he felt relieved that at least he had to say no more. 

 

"Thank you for the important news, City Council!" His act was slipping, he could almost taste the false cheeriness on his lips, but he forced himself to carry on, "Well, now, I do believe it is time to move on. And now, the Wea-"

 

There were more words written on the back of the sheet. Cecil's voice died in his throat as his eyes honed in on those small and unpleasant shapes hidden like an afterthought, seemingly inconsequential, but he knew with absolute certainty that he had to read them. Tap, tap, tap. Shaking his head at the sudden noise, he squeaked, 

 

"The Weather!"

 

As the music jangled into existence, Cecil immediately brought the paper up to his face, his eyes scanning those small, seemingly insignificant words, as he waited with baited breath. 

 

_"Mr Palmer,_

_We have received a request for you to be submitted for re-education._

_Please finish any unsolved business before next thursday; ritual murders, unfinished romances, unfilled tax returns, etc, and please bring yourself to the City Chambers._

_We await your presence."_

 

Probing electricity in his mind. Pain. Ounces and ounces of pure and utter pain; re-education. It will not hurt, they promised. It will not hurt, they smiled, as they tore the very memories out of your head, leaving nothing but confusion and fear rattling around inside your mind, and a sense of loneliness so strong that one was powerless to do anything but sit there and stare blankly at the walls closing in. His hands shook as he read the words over and over; nearly every citizen in Night Vale had some experience with re-education, and all feared it. 

 

The Weather completed its last ringing chord, the silence falling after it in the radio booth seemed to press hard against Cecil's ears. He scrambled to the microphone, certain that if he heard that dreaded tapping recommence then he would throw something against the wall, willingly or not. His mind was in bits, he could barely concentrate on the reports he had to read out, at the words he was forced to say, but he tried his absolute hardest, knowing that if he just persevered then at least it would be over quickly.

 

Eventually, he completed what he was supposed to say for the day's reports, and it was left to him to speak the parting words of the show, the words that Station Management usually allowed him freedom with. But, as he flipped the first piece of paper he had to read off over to place it on the table, his heart sank as he took in more words that he had somehow missed which printed on the back, heralded with the note in brackets 'to read at end of show,'. His eyes zoomed over the text, and his voice followed, it's usually dreamy tones replaced by a low caution, 

 

"Listeners- there are only three things in this world. What we know, what we think we know and what we do not know at all."

 

As he spoke the requested words, he felt a slow sense of unease creeping upon him. They were not so different to the philosophical musings he usually spoke as a parting message to the listeners at home, and yet he could not help trying to pull apart the words for a deeper meaning; there _had_ to be a hidden threat, a concealed message. Frowning with worry, he continued, "We praise the knowledge seeker and yet perhaps…perhaps some boxes are best left unopened, remaining sealed in that fickle dream we call memory. But, if the box is opened and the knowledge seeker ignores all advice and peeks in…well, sometimes it is better not knowing."

 

His last word faded poignantly into nothingness; he had reached the end of the written requested message. He gulped, half fearing what he was expected to do now that he had reached the end of the show. There was nothing for it, he took a deep breath, and spoke steadily, 

 

"Good night, Night Vale. Goodnight."

 

He felt sick, utterly sick, as he brought the microphone from his face with a tentative hand. Those words had surely been a warning, a sneaking threat that warned him to forget all about Carlos, to cast him away from his memories and to move on. But he could not; and he remained in the booth for an unknown amount of time, clutching his head as poisonous thoughts whirled within. Despite the hooded figure sitting motionless behind him, the room pressed in around him, and Cecil realised how very alone he was. Before Carlos came to Night Vale he hardly registered it, throwing himself into the community and imbuing himself with gossip, with the flavour of all the citizens' lives. He was well known and well loved; almost _everybody_ had a good word to say about Cecil Palmer. And, if ever he found himself alone in his house, the rooms echoing with the sounds of only one solitary life moving within, he had a whole list of people to invite around to breathe life into the somewhat oppressive space. 

 

But when Carlos arrived, when that dark and mysterious scientist appeared like a mirage in front of him and asked nervous questions about this strange new town, he realised how very lonely his life had been. Of course, friends were wonderful, and he absorbed their company with an almost thirsty enthusiasm, but he ached for someone to fill the empty spaces, to be the last thing he saw before the lights were clicked off for the night. When he came over to visit, Carlos's very presence seemed to fill up the house, to imbue the quiet spaces with the sound of his laughter and his bright smiles. The thought of going back to that loneliness again, to go back to a bed that was too big for one person, to a house that had too many chairs, too much space, it made him remain rooted to his seat, the very weight of a future alone seeming to press down on him. 

 

Eventually, though, he could not bear to stay in that oppressive space any longer. He heaved himself off of his chair, his legs feeling like leaven weights as he moved away from the vile papers on his desk. He thought again of the team of scientists who were no doubt cowering in the laboratory, and hoped desperately that the Sheriff's Secret Police would not treat them too cruelly. As he walked through the door of the booth, he felt his pocket vibrate as his phone buzzed; wondering who on earth would want to text him now, he brought the phone out of his pocket with a flourish, the name flashing briefly on the screen, 'Old Woman Josie'. With a shaking finger, he clicked open the message,

 

_Delete this. Go to the Dog Park. Hurry._

 

He stared at the message but he did not comprehend it; why would they meet there? It was forbidden- despite his natural curiosity even Cecil had never set foot in that dreaded place. He did not wish to now, especially after all of the peculiar events which were currently occuring, but Josie had never texted him with such urgency before. Josie; she had been almost like a family to him over the years, but he was forced to admit to himself that after the events of yesterday he was perhaps a little frightened of her.

 

When the strange, buzzing presence had left her eyes the previous day, she had stumbled and would have fallen onto the sand if a hooded figure hadn't have grabbed her, hauling her safely away from the unforgiving ground. To her credit, Josie tried to throw the grasping hand off, but the hooded figure was too strong for her in her weakened state, and he hauled her across the glittering sands towards the centre of town. Another hooded figure had stood ready to grab Cecil, but he merely followed after the struggling figures, only able to feel complete numbness as he trudged after the rapidly moving pair. 

 

He had not managed to speak to Josie since, and if he was perfectly honest with himself the thought of talking to her frightened him. What if they were both possessed again? He did not want that clawing, venomous presence in his mind at all, and yet he craved a friendly face, someone who might understand and be able to help with the turmoil he currently faced. Really, he had no choice but to follow her instructions, even though he was not sure how successful their meeting would be.

 

He passed the seated hooded figure; it's hooded face followed him silently as he walked past, and he kept his head bowed to avoid its piercing gaze. He did not look behind him, but he knew instinctively that he was being followed, and he wondered desperately how he was going to make it to the dog park without being tailed. He would have to lose them somehow, and he hoped that Josie had planned for this difficulty.

 

The corridor seemed unnaturally bright after the gloomy atmosphere of the recording studio, and he almost wanted to cover his eyes but refrained from this silly notion, plodding on determinedly down the corridor. The source of the unusual brightness was revealed to be the lightbulb nestled innocently on the ceiling, the peculiar one which had been in contact with one of Josie's angels; for whatever reason, it seemed to be redoubling its usual efforts, and he smiled as he passed under its reassuring glow. He did not know why, but it almost felt as if it was fighting back against his oppressors, an indication that perhaps all was not lost. When he reached the end of the corridor, he turned back to see that brightness one last time, and saw the hooded figure recoil as it passed underneath the glowing bulb. Cecil's smile grew wider as he saw it cringing away from the light, and he turned around the corner; his heart holding just one tiny whisper of hope. 

 

 

***

 

 

The air in the recording booth was awfully dusty and humid, as if it was a small, forgotten space cut entirely off from the rest of civilisation. As Carlos gradually emerged from a fitful and nightmarish sleep, he desperately tried sucking the turgid air through his nostrils, the gag covering his mouth tasting musty and vile as he continued to struggle against it. How on earth he had managed to sleep when he had been so very frightened, he did not understand, but his body ached so deeply with the assaults of the previous day that he supposed that he should not have been surprised that he had finally succumbed to rest, really. He wondered vaguely what had brought him into consciousness, when a dark shape in the corner of his eye loomed into view. 

 

It was the man again, the strange, softly spoken, smiling man. In the sickly yellow light emerging from the window, his face was much clearer than on the previous night, and Carlos couldn't help it; he groaned as he saw that face which was so similar to Cecil's, which caused a stab of betrayal to his gut when he gazed upon its familiar planes. And yet...peculiarly, at the same time he did not look like Cecil at all. Cecil's face did not have the capacity to grin quite that much, the sharp and slightly crooked teeth filling the mouth and offering the exact opposite of the reassurance a smile usually conveyed. And his _eyes_ , a deeper black than anything Carlos had seen in Night Vale so far, seemed to glower at him like the void, unreadable and utterly unfathomable.

 

His head was cocked on its side, and he gazed at Carlos as if he was a puppy in a pet shop window, as if having someone tied up and trapped in a stifling room was merely curious rather than unduly unusual. Seeing Carlos's gaze directed at him, the smile impossibly turned wider. Similarly to the night before, he lifted up a microphone and spoke delicately into it, the sweet, too bright voice floating directly into his ears,

 

"So you're finally awake, sleepyhead! Goodness me- I wish I could afford such a luxury as a morning nap." 

 

Carlos stared as he spoke his slightly condescending tones, unable to believe that he was being chastised for laziness as he sat tied to a chair. He tried to speak through the gag, to demand what was going on, but all that emerged was a strangled gurgle, and the vileness of the material seemed to increase tenfold on his tongue. At the noise, Kevin's face seemed to fall, an unexpected look of concern passed over it as he pressed his hand against the glass, towards Carlos.

 

"You must be absolutely _boiling_ in there. Gasping for a drink too, I expect." 

 

At the mere mention of a drink, Carlos's tongue seemed to swell in his mouth, its very dryness suddenly becoming unbearable as he took in the man's words. He had been so occupied with the distressing events which had happened, he had hardly realised that he had not had any form of sustenance since the previous morning. He must have been trapped in this room for hours now, and the pure heat of it seemed to have been working on him, leeching away all moisture from his body. He was gasping for a drink of anything, and the pure and sudden need consumed his mind with a ferociousness that shocked and frightened him in its intensity.

 

He did not know if this had been the smiling man's plan, to torture him slowly with thoughts of water as he sat helplessly in the stifling room, but his expression appeared concerned rather than overtly cruel. Carlos knew that he could not speak, and despite the indignity of the situation, the horrible knowledge that he was being forced to beg to this unknown figure, he nodded his head as best as he could, the headset wobbling with his movements. The man's fingernails scraped down the glass wall in front of him as his cold, blank eyes took in the helpless nod. 

 

"Oh." He heaved a sigh, the fingernails scraped further down; Carlos could hear the sound through the microphone. "Oh, I _wish_ I could come in." He gave what was evidently supposed to be a sad sort of smile, but it was a crooked thing. "I'm not allowed to, see." 

 

And Carlos could only stare at him, horrified that he was being denied the one thing that he truly needed. Now that the subject had been broached, the heat seemed to press upon him in that oppressively small room, it seemed to sink into his clothing and pervade every sense, every thought. He thought he had been hot in Night Vale, but this room contained a warmth that was completely out of his depth, and he desired nothing more than to rip off his sweltering lab coat which was twisted around his body. He tried to widen his eyes, to convey to this almost kindly looking man of his desperate need, cursing his inability to speak, to beg. His tongue felt hot and heavy as he made a futile attempt again to move the fabric away, trying to force the simple word 'please' out of his dry mouth. 

 

The man watched him with a fascinated expression, his eyes following Carlos's shaking head as he attempted to dislodge the fabric binding his mouth. His voice was soft, so soft,

 

"It's a shame, really. I could help; but I'm not _allowed_." He paused for a moment, and his body shifted slightly as reached below Carlos's eyeline, searching for something. To his absolute horror, the man brought up a plastic cup filled to the brim with water, moving it slowly towards his face. The liquid shined in the electrical lights, and Carlos thought he had never seen anything quite so beautiful, so tantalising. But the man quirked an eyebrow at his widened eyes as he held the cup aloft.

 

"There's no use looking at me like _that._ " With excruciating slowness, he took a sip of the water, and Carlos could only watch in pure torture his bobbing adams apple as he swallowed the precious liquid. He hadn't realised before, but around his neck the man was wearing a strange metal collar, its dark smoothness rippling in the light of the room. Peculiarly, it looked neither like jewellery or part of any kind of uniform he had ever seen in his life. It was thin and smooth, with no words or indication of anything other than dark metal, but it made Carlos feel very uneasy. He did not like this man, he did not like they way he looked over the plastic cup at him, with a face full of barely concealed relish.

 

"I'm sorry. But we simply can't waste water in our little community, can we?" He gave a little shudder at the thought, and the water shook in his hands, slopping around the cup. "Believe me, if I could come in I would. But I _can't_. But- oh!" 

 

His mouth made a sudden 'o' of realisation, and Carlos sat up straighter, hoping desperately that what he was going to say next would help him, would stop him from staring at that cup with such desperation.

 

"How _very silly_ of me- I could get someone else to give it to you. Would you like that?"

 

He paused as if, absurdly, he expected Carlos to answer, and all the trussed up man could do was nod his head vigorously. The man leaned in towards the glass window, his voice extraordinary polite through the headset.

 

"Pardon? I didn't _quite_ catch that."

 

And, losing all pretense that he was in control of this situation, Carlos shook the chair, flinging his body from side to side against his tight bonds as he thrashed against them. This strange man was obviously not going to help him, and all he could do was struggle, sweating as the ropes sut deeper into his skin.The man watched his movements with a polite sort of observance and seemed to hover for a moment, as if he was on the brink of a decision. Eventually, a sad sort of smile grazed his face, though his teeth seemed too big for it.

 

"Pity. Would you like me to tell you a story?"

 

The change of subject was so abrupt, so unexpected, that it momentarily stunned Carlos into silence, his body frozen in its twisted position. The man behind the glass stood up straighter, as he shifted the microphone to a more comfortable position in his hand, watching Carlos all the while with those dark, unfathomable eyes. Carlos stared into those deep pools of blackness, seeking out any morsel of pity, any of the kindness that he had detected in that lilting voice. This man confused him so completely; his actions were cruel, but he spoke so sweetly and his voice was ladened with that little morsel of regret. And also, and this was the thing that he truly could not _bear_ , the smiling man just looked so very like Cecil, and the combination of the heat of the room and his raging thirst was making him feel like he was losing his grasp on all reality. The man seemed to take his silence as an affirmation, as he heard a happy sigh through the headset,

 

 

"Oh, _good_. I'll make it up as I go along. I simply _adore_ stories, don't you?"

 

He leant against the glass in a more comfortable position, staring out at Carlos as if this was something they did everyday, as if having a man tied up and terrified in the adjoining room was a completely regular occurrence. Once again, he lifted the water to his mouth before speaking, and as he saw the precious water sparkle in the electrical light, Carlos groaned; he could not stop himself. The man quirked an eyebrow, but made no comment, slowly drinking the liquid as Carlos tried desperately to look anywhere else. The water was placed on a surface, and no matter how hard Carlos tried to look away from it, the small plastic cup was always visible in the corner of his eye, so very close, but impossible to reach. He was so distressed by this fact that he jolted as that sweet voice issued once again from the headset,

 

"One day," He began delicately, "A man came to a strange little town. A beautiful man, _perfect,_ some would say. An outsider."

 

Carlos froze again; feeling a creeping sense of foreboding as the man spoke his familiar words. As the man took in his stillness, his recognition of the story, his grin became positively sharklike. 

 

"They didn't get many outsiders, this little town. And if they did, none were seen for long. This man, however, became well known, maybe even well loved." 

 

 The voice was so light, so pleasant, and yet Carlos shrunk away from it. The words seemed to seep into his very being, and he wanted them to stop, for this man to stop talking. He wanted _water._ The man watched him for a moment, and his voice dipped once more into his ears, twisting into a sinister thing.

 

"And then," He paused, considering the man shrinking before him, "He started asking questions."

 

He reached for the cup again, and Carlos thrashed on the chair, hardly caring that it was futile, that it would do him absolutely no good. He had to do something, even though his furious movements was making the extreme heat even more unbearable, and his clothes felt hot and sticky on his skin. Miraculously, the chair moved an inch or so towards the dashboard full of buttons, and through his thrashing movements he knocked over a paperweight which lay on the side. It smashed to the floor and he cringed at the noise, at the rapidly smashing glass. Hearing the commotion through the glass wall, Kevin looked up from his plastic cup, his eyes flashing. 

 

"If you stay still," The voice was dangerously sweet, and infinitely colder than it had been mere moments ago, "Then I will call for an intern. Only then." 

 

Carlos wanted to cringe away from that awful voice which whispered so smoothly into his ears, but he was so frightened of moving that he stayed rigid, fearful that any form of movement whatsoever would anger this changeable man. It was so peculiar; just moments before his voice had affected that frosty and dangerous tone, the man's collar had seemed to flash, lighting up his face momentarily. As he peered down as Carlos, his teeth clenched in a frightening semblance of a smile, the collar flashed briefly again, and his face shifted into a more pleasant expression. His voice, when he spoke, was lilting once more,

 

"Oh, where was I? Oh, yes! He asked questions, and found no answers, although the answers were very, very close. And then…one day…" He was so close to the glass now, his voice hissed into the microphone in is hand, the sibilance of the hiss fading softly into his ears, "The man _disappeared."_

 

Carlos shuddered at the threat, then immediately stilled himself, fearful that his shaking would constitute as movement and that the man would not call an intern as he had promised. But he seemed more interested in Carlos's reaction, his dark eyes searching the horrified part of his face which was not covered by the gag.

 

" _Nifty_ little story, eh? You can just forget about it, if you like." With a flourish, he brought the cup up to his mouth again, and Carlos actually heard the gulp of water through the headset as the last drop of liquid disappeared down his throat. When he had finished, he gave a small chuckle, the tinkling laugh at odds with his ominous words, "Though I daresay you won't." 

 

The man crushed the plastic cup in his hand, and it fell against the floor with a light thud. He peered down at it, disinterested, and without further ado began walking down the corridor. Carlos wanted to shout after him; he had not mentioned whether he was keeping the promise or not, but the man soon disappeared from his eyeline. He was left alone again, and he could not for the life of him decide whether he preferred the loneliness of the sweltering room to that horrifying man. 

 

It was becoming increasingly hard to focus on the room. Shapes seemed to swim in front of his eyes and the outlines of objects  wavered and shifted in the heat. He felt the desire to sleep once more gripping him, but a small voice in the back of his mind urged him not to give in. He could no longer gauge time, as every second seemed to drag, encouraged onto slowness by the extreme heat. He was so uncomfortable, trussed up on that chair like a lamb to slaughter, but he could feel his mind slipping, fading…

 

A hand yanked his head back by the hair roughly, the sharp pain of it snapping his mind back to the present. Swiftly, the foul tasting gag was removed and as the material left his mouth he sucked the fresh air hungrily, gasping that dusty warmth like it was the freshest summer breeze. A bottle was shoved into his mouth and tipped, and he spluttered as icy water cascaded into his parched mouth, the most heavenly thing he had ever tasted. He drank it until he could bear it no longer, and when the bottle was removed his head was thrown onto the back of the chair as he gasped for more air. 

 

There was a movement beside him as a hand reached to put the gag back into place; Carlos saw what they were doing and gasped, his voice raw from lack of use,

 

"N-no, _please,_ no-"

 

The hand paused, and the intern, a small, black haired girl with her face covered by a menacing gas mask, turned to the back of the booth, as if seeking orders. Standing behind the glass wall was the man, still shut a safe distance away from Carlos, and still holding the microphone. His hands twitched as he desired to go in, to touch Carlos himself, but he remained rooted to the spot, as he knew he must. He lifted the microphone to his lips, and even the intern could hear his words through the headset.

 

"Leave it off. I would _love_ to have a conversation later." 

 

She nodded, and placed the hated gag in one of her many pockets. Carlos sighed with relief, but the man's dangerous smile was back, his chin resting in his hands as he saw Carlos sag.

 

"Give him the pills, though."

 

At these words, Carlos's sense of relief evaporated as his fear flooded back viciously, and he tried to whip his head away from the advancing hand, but it was no use. Two pills were forced into his mouth, and he was made to swallow them, allowed another precious sip of water to aid him. His head swam again from its abuse, and the shapes in the room became indistinct. He did not like this, he did not like strange medication; it was one of his biggest fears, especially as his scientific mind panicked at the strange chemicals which were surely invading his body. His breathing increased as his consciousness began to fade, the only shape visible was the man's grinning face, but in his confused mind he could only see the calm face of Cecil. He did not care that he was angry at Cecil, that he hardly wanted to see him again, and he whimpered,

 

"C-cecil, C-cecil-"

 

The shape quirked it head again, and the voice was curious,

 

"I'm not Cecil." He sounded rather offended. "I'm Kevin." 

 

And that was the last thing he heard before the darkness consumed his mind, the flashing teeth the last thing he saw before he knew no more.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill; apologies, talks of stress, busy up to my eyeballs. I really hope you're still enjoying this though, as I quite enjoyed writing this chapter for some reason! I really hope the plot isn't too complicated with this story. It's deviating quite far from the canon story and I am unsure if this is even enjoyable any more. Ah well, I hope it's ok!
> 
> Thank you so much for all comments, kudos, etc, you all rock :)
> 
> If you have any questions/ love talking about Night Vale I have a blog! 
> 
> http://sexybaldwin.tumblr.com/

 

 

 

With an effort of pure concentration, Cecil focused on putting one foot in front of the other, carefully wending his way down the streets of Night Vale as he considered how best to lose the trailing hooded figure. It had abandoned all sense of subtlety in its tailing of him, as he could clearly hear the soft rasp of its cloak as it appeared to glide behind him on the sidewalk in a morose sort of fashion, far enough away that he occasionally lost sight of it as he turned around corners, but close enough that the scrape of the cloak was ever present. Admittedly, most of his concentration was focused on the somewhat difficult conundrum of how to make it appear as if he was not actually headed towards the Dog Park, because he was fairly certain that Josie must have been trailed by a similarly lingering hooded figure, and he knew that once they got wind of his intended destination then they would try their utmost to stop them from meeting. So, he plodded on carefully, his mind positively whirling with possibilities and vague plans. 

 

 

In truth, he was actually rather bewildered as to why the Dog Park was their designated meeting place; surely it was the one location in their city that would contain a truly unbeatable amount of hooded figures? Those dark, looming gates which reeked an utterly forbidden air swam in his mind, and he felt deeply uncomfortable that he was disregarding his own carefully made warnings of never to enter that terrible place. But he _had_ to trust Josie- if he couldn't trust her, the wisest person in Night Vale and the one person who had been both like a mother to him and a very good friend over these troublesome years then, well, he couldn't trust anyone. 

 

 

The people he passed who were dotted on the streets of Night Vale partaking in their various activities were still determinedly not paying him any attention, and so he passed by them as if he was a ghost, a forgotten and unloved entity that had no destination other than towards hopelessness. It was almost as if they feared that if they interacted with him then they too would be forced to suffer, perhaps for their loved ones to be sacrificed also, and truthfully Cecil could not find it in his heart to blame them. A Harvesting always arrived with a pervading sense of dread which infected the whole town with a venomous sort of gloominess, lasting for numerous days until regular life was resumed, the traumatic event forgotten until the next inevitable occasion. The victim's family were of course offered sympathy, but for the most part were avoided as if they held a contagion that would affect the whole town.  And as for the one from whom the victim had been ripped, well, whilst they could not exactly be blamed, dark glances and terse whispers followed them wherever they deigned to walk.

 

And so, despite the number of people milling around him Cecil felt extraordinarily alone, the bright streets of his well loved town offering him little comfort or respite as he hurried on past. It did not help that every shrub he passed reminded him of the man who so often bent down to inspect them, claiming in a loudly complaining voice that they were 'too purple and scaly for that family of Fouquieria Splendens', the man who had laughed when Cecil told him not to step on any cracks, then stopped immediately as he saw an old lady do just that and fall deep into a concealed chasm. Carlos might not have been in Night Vale for a particularly long time, but for Cecil the town echoed of him. Clenching his fists tightly, and trying to push this heartbreaking thought away, he moved onwards. 

 

The centre of Night Vale truly was a sight to behold, even for someone like Cecil who had visited the twisting streets for his whole entire life. Perhaps the architecture could be a little haphazard, perhaps the buildings could be a little dirty from blasts of dust and sand which blew with a ferocious intensity from the surrounding desert plains, but their town was a proud one and Cecil felt a small sense of comfort from the large buildings which loomed around him like sentinels, watchful and silent.

 

He looked towards the grand City Hall, usually such an offering of safety; he knew it would offer no such respite now. Perhaps he could escape to Telly the Barbers…but no, Telly had never forgiven him for the witch hunt he had initiated after he had dared to attack Carlos's precious locks. Reminiscing about that dreaded occasion as he plodded down the street, a building in the distance honed into view-  the dark, sombre black of the Town Library sparkled menacingly in the beating sun, an air of abandonment tangible even at this distance. Cecil shook his head disparagingly at the spiked gates, it was _such_ a blot on the landscape, such an awful and dangerous place, so difficult to…to get in and out of…

 

_No._

 

He beat the tentative thought away with a furious stab, angry at his mind for even suggesting such an absurd notion. The library was an utterly wretched place, even more forbidden than the Dog Park; _every_ citizen with even an iota of intelligence knew that. _Yes,_ the voice whispered, _no one in their right mind would go in there_ , _not even a hooded figure._ This, admittedly, was true, as Cecil had never seen one of those menacing figures anywhere near the dreaded place, but then again there was never anyone remotely close to the library- it generally remained an abandoned and unloved monstrosity, the ominous, twisted shapes of the librarians visible only if they slithered past the long windows, blackened with age and lack of care. It was utter madness to go in, utterly desperate and yet, with a gulp, Cecil knew just how desperate he was. He understood that he trailed the fine line between death and re-education, and in his heart he knew that he would pick death over losing the memories of Carlos every time. Feeling the decision weigh heavily upon him, his footsteps continued with renewed vigour. 

 

The rasp of the cloak trailing on the floor was still audible, and Cecil knew that if he looked behind him to check on the figure then it would immediately sense that he had some kind of ulterior motive. He was sure that they would suspect that something was amiss as soon as he directed himself towards that looming building, the place that no citizen in their right mind would ever enter, thus speed and timing was of the utmost essence. Subtly, he made his strides longer as he approached those spiked gates, his heart pumping furiously at the unbelievable thought that he was soon going to find himself on the other side of them for once, but he had a vague confidence in his own ability to survive. Blessedly, the gate was unlocked as it always was, swinging open with only a gentle touch as if it was eager to receive this idiotic prey.

 

 As soon as he stepped through, he heard the scrape of the cloak pause as the hooded figure blankly took in his unexpected detour, clearly surprised that he had actually entered that wretched place. It recovered quickly however, and Cecil could soon hear the loud slap of footsteps as it sped after him, clearly sensing that the broadcaster had some sort of plan, and knowing it had limited time to stop him before he entered that dreaded building. Abandoning all sense of subtlety, Cecil ran full pelt towards those wrought iron doors, praying desperately that they were open, or all of his careful planning would be for nothing.

 

To his immediate relief, the heavy, elaborate doors swung open to receive with just as much eagerness as the gate had contained, and he was soon breathing in the musty, clogging smell of books which had lain abandoned and unread for years. The door slammed shut behind him like a closed mouth, and although he was relieved at the brief respite from the hooded figure, he couldn't help feeling trapped, as if he had possibly walked from one horrible situation into an even worse one. But it was far too late now; he had committed himself, and he could only continue forwards or have to face the hooded figure once more. With a gulp, he rushed down the dim hallway, painfully aware of how loudly his shoes clicked on the marble floor.

 

 

Each citizen of Night Vale was thoroughly schooled on the library so that there was an optimum survival rate for every mandatory trip for the town's schoolchildren. Tamika Flynn had been a anomaly amongst children as never had any child fought so viciously against the librarians, and with such success. Cecil remembered his own trip to the library countless years ago, remembered with a shiver those long fingered hands which attempted to grab his clothing, his neck, ti drag him deep onto that labyrinthine mess of shelves. He had of course survived, but he would never forget the screams of those unfortunate enough to fall into those grasping clutches.

 

But, thanks to his traumatic experience and vigorous schooling, he had a vague recollection of the various exits of the library, something which he was sure no hooded figure would know about. It was simply a question of locating them before the librarians caught wind of his arrival, and the thought of this caused him to try and soften his footfalls as much as he could, knowing that if he went too slow then the hooded figure would catch up and drag him back to who knew where, but if he went too fast then the footsteps would attract unwanted attention from those concealed creatures. He had to stoke a happy medium, and it took all of his concentration.

 

He had reached the end of the corridor when he heard the rattle of the door handle as the hooded figure shook it with vicious intent; peculiarly, it seemed that the door was rather more reluctant in letting the hooded figure enter than it had been for him. Although it was relieving to know that this would buy him more time, Cecil tried to push the nasty thought that the library preferred him to the hooded figure into the back of his mind. He turned a corner, and the white marble of the hallway gave way to deep, shimmering black, with veins of pulsing colour flowing through with a soft and menacing glow; it was beautiful, but Cecil knew how Night Vale loved to conceal horror within beauty. Tearing his eyes away from this mesmerising image, he flicked his gaze from side to side, desperately attempting to analyse his current environment in the hope that this would aid in a safe passage through. 

 

Books. Hundreds and hundreds of books. Perhaps thousands; Cecil was fairly sure that no one had survived long enough to count the innumerable volumes which lay unread on the high shelves. He shivered again at the thought of so many un-municipally approved books, wondering how much trouble he would get in if he dared reach out and grab one of the tantalising specimens, how soon he would be dragged to be re-educated and the book burned in front of his held-open eyes. He resisted the pull, knowing as all citizens did that the fabled books could cast a siren song to wary travellers, luring them far away from their intended path and into the clutches of the looming librarians, cracked lips stretched far over those tombstone teeth as they absorbed the fact that another person had been foolish enough to enter the sacred environment of the library. Feeling the unspoken whisper of hidden words surrounding him, he tore his gaze away from the watchful volumes.

 

Now that he was completely ensconced in that dreaded room, Cecil prepared himself for those slithering figures, but, as he had feared, the place was deadly silent, as not a soul except for himself seemed to breathe in that dark place. He jerked in surprise as a loud _slam_ crashed into the distance; it seemed that the hooded figure had finally managed to enter the library, slamming the door behind it in pure anger that it had almost been denied the chase. Feeling the heat of pursuit upon him again, Cecil hurried, his feet slapping furiously on the smooth marble as he huffed and puffed through the turgid and dusty air.

 

Swiftly, he was closing in on the centre of the room, and a large circular dais with carved symbols honed into view on which an immense wooden table with smashed lamps and teetering piles of forgotten books stood like a moment lost in time. He stared intently at the symbols, raking his memory for directions, for any hint at where he needed to go next. _Left, I need to go left_ , he thought desperately, spinning around on the spot, his shoes making an unwelcome screech as he tried to halt. He was doing a very poor job of being inconspicuous, although the rapidly approaching sounds of the hooded figure was making enough noise for the both of them. The silence of the rest of the library was bothering him greatly, as the absence of the librarians seemed horribly ominous, and it was with utmost apprehension that he advanced leftwards down a narrow avenue of bookcases, noting with dismay that all lampshades visible in the distance were also smashed, never to shine in that dark space again. 

 

There was an intersection of shelves in front of him, the path leading away from them forking into three different directions, three different routes which all faded equally into mysterious blackness. Cecil knew that he must continue onwards on his current path and not be swayed into the labyrinthine, twisting shelves around him that might offer him shelter from the hooded figure, but would surely entrap him. He faced dead ahead, staring intently at the darkness in front of him when, faster than he could even blink, he saw a blurred motion in the corner of his eye. Immediately, he felt a freezing, pallid _something_ wrap clawed fingers around his throat, dragging him into the right fork of the passageway, his legs scraping across the cold marble.

 

 

Cecil scrabbled uselessly at his throat and he couldn't _breathe_ , he couldn't think; no thought filled his mind other than the blind terror caused by the awful knowledge that he had been captured by one of the worst creatures in Night Vale, the realisation that he had been foolish to think that he could escape the librarians. He could hear the click of sharp teeth as it loomed above him, gurgling its horrible, satisfied gurgle as it shook its prey with gleeful strength; he could not see it but he could _feel_ it, all sharp angles and rotting flesh, a creature that saw no sunlight and delighted in darkness.

 

He flailed his feet, hopelessly trying to kick the twisted body which loomed behind him, but the attempt was futile as, clicking in an obviously amused way, the creature dodged his haphazard movements with pure effortlessness. It squeezed harder, the clawed, mottled hands closing on his throat with murderous intent, and the choking Cecil gave one last valiant kick, his legs swinging in an arc through the air. To his absolute amazement, his foot connected with a shelf and with a loud _snap_ the wooden slat caved in; tens of heavy books cascaded to the floor with an ungainly clatter, bursting open to reveal stained pages and mysterious runes as they smacked ruthlessly against the softly glowing marble.

 

Behind him, the Librarian shrieked; apparently,  it could not bear to see its precious books so abused. With a careless swipe, it thrust Cecil to the side and bent over the fallen volumes, cradling them tenderly in its taloned grip, cooing with awful little clicks at the dusty covers while Cecil heaved his aching body quietly off the floor. Although he wanted to do nothing more than massage his throat and run full pelt down the corridor, Cecil opted for a more careful approach this time, slowly edging away from the hunched over figure, trying his best not to allow his eyes to linger on its wretched appearance lest he become too panicked. He had just made it back to the intersection when he heard another unholy screech, and this time he _did_ sprint down the corridor, hardly caring about what lay behind him as long as he moved far, far away from it.

 

He needed to head for a doorway, an unassuming wooden door that he knew lead out of the back of the library and onto a secluded piece of scrubland; he knew this because this was the doorway that he had escaped through on his last foray into the library. He had also been grabbed by a librarian then, but that time it was by the ankle, and he had only been prevented form being dragged to certain death by a quick thinking friend who had stomped ferociously on the clawing hands until they let go. Never had he been so thankful towards Earl Harlan, and together they had tumbled out of that inconspicuous door to the blessedly scorching heat of the desert outside. 

 

Cecil knew he had to be very careful; he must follow more twisting passages before he reached the intended doorway, but he knew from pure instinct that the door could not be much farther away. Gasping for breath, he had been running for a while now, he turned right around a corner and stopped dead, a large and peeling painting of a miserable desert scene hanging directly on the wall in front of him, unexpected and very out of place. On each side of him loomed oppressive bookcases, some peculiarly were empty, but there was no door visible on any wall. It was a dead end.

 

Shaking his head in pure disbelief that he had taken a wrong turning, and cursing the loss of precious seconds, Cecil backtracked, unable to take his eyes off the morose picture hanging on the wall in front of him. He wanted to inspect the moodily painted sands, the sands which seemed to glitter a little too realistically in the little light he was afforded-

 

_Crash._

 

There was a loud bang as two figures collided in the dark alleyway; although he was momentarily stunned, Cecil knew from the dark, trailing cloak currently entangled in his legs that he had finally been reunited with the hooded figure. Luckily for him, the figure seemed just as dazed as he was, and they spun together, arms windmilling ridiculously to prevent them from falling onto the hard marble floor. Precariously, they regained their balance, stumbling away from each other into the opposite directions. When they had both straightened fully, there was a beat of silence as both waited for the other to make the first move. It was the hooded figure that acted first, diving towards Cecil with arms outstretched to detain him, but the broadcaster was prepared. He knew that he was heading in the right direction now, so he jerked away from the grasping arms and pelted down the corridor, hearing the furious flap of footsteps as the figure hurried on just as quickly.

 

 

Heart beating fit to burst, Cecil knew that despite his efforts the hooded figure would probably catch up with him, as its strides were longer than his own and his bruised throat was causing him difficulty in breathing in sufficient amounts of air to maintain this crazed pace. There was only one thing he could do, one idea that was so horrific that he could hardly comprehend that he was going to attempt it. Hardly daring his nerve, Cecil gave a thrusting swipe to the book laden shelves running along the walls beside him, and a shelfful of books clattered gracelessly to the floor behind him, directly onto the path of the advancing hooded figure.

 

How they knew that this had occurred, Cecil did not know, but as soon as those dusty tomes bounced against the pulsing floor scraping screeches erupted from all around them, becoming twice as anguished as the hooded figure accidentally trod on one or two covers in its haste to catch up with Cecil. Somewhat hysterically, Cecil dragged his arms across the bookcases lining the shelved avenue, wincing as the heavy volumes bounced with a cacophony of thudding pages and snapping covers behind him, fiercely hoping that the librarians would choose to attack the hooded figure before they got to him. Casting his eyes desperately in front of him, he could finally see the doorway, he could spy the unassuming wood in front of him, the only promise of freedom in this hellish place. 

 

He could hear ripping now; somehow, the hooded figure was letting out its own unholy shrieks as it fended off the cacophony of grasping hands, and Cecil would have felt sorry for it if the image of Carlos being dragged away from him didn't burn quite so brightly in his mind. He flung himself the last few metres and grabbed the door handle with all of his might, knowing that if the door was locked then this whole plan would be his doom. But blessedly, oh how blessedly, the door swung open to reveal the now heavenly scrubland, so very different from this dusty, forgotten room. Cecil cast one last look behind him and took in the horrifying image of a hooded figure covered in the still falling books, its cloak steadily being torn to shreds as the slavering librarians sought to conquer its struggling body. Gulping at the horrible knowledge that he had caused this to happen, he hauled himself outside. 

 

 

The door shut with soft click behind him, almost as if it was reluctant to see him escape the library's clutches. With the click, the thrashing noises from within were immediately cut off, and despite himself Cecil felt a slight sense of relief; he had made it. He had survived the library twice now; he wasn't sure how many people in the town could truthfully say the same thing. But he could not allow himself to slow down even in victory, as although he had successfully managed to lose one hooded figure, he wasn't sure if he had the energy or ability to outsmart another at the present. The Dog Park was his destination, and with shaking footsteps he picked his way through the scattered shrubs, thankful at least that he did not have to walk far. He could only hope that Josie had not met with as much trouble as him. 

 

Behind his retreating figure, a dark shadow passed the dirty windows of the library, and if he had been close enough Cecil would have seen a dark hand scrabbling uselessly against the glass as it was borne away into darkness.

 

 

 

***

 

 

It was strange how silent the desert could be. The occasional lizard might skitter nervously across the sparkling sands, or perhaps a bird would shriek from it's lofty position in the azure skies; for the moment, no living creature dared move in that inhospitable environment. No, not a creature stirred, and yet a slight flicker suddenly visible in mid air seemed to challenge this fact, although perhaps it could be said that this momentary apparition did not herald a living creature at all. If anyone had been present to see the scorching hot air shimmer in that brief moment, they might have shaken their head, dispelling the image as a possible hallucination, a mirage caused by that swimming feeling of the head when spent too long under direct sunlight. But it was no hallucination; the shape flickered with renewed strength, the shimmering outline coalescing into the rough shape of a woman, hovering unsurely above the ground. 

 

Peculiarly, her outline was not wholly solid, as through her opaque form the sparkling sands were visible as if she was made from fine smoke, billowing softly into the shape of a woman. The flickering hands clenched and unclenched as she willed herself into existence. _You can do it,_ she wanted to scream, _come on, you know you can do it-_

 

With an intense heave, the woman's outline became slightly more focused, although it could not be said that she was at all solidly human. Although the lack of a wholly physical form was distressing, she knew this strange multi-dimensional form would have to suffice, at least for the moment. With a tentative sweep of the head to regard the space around her, furtively checking for unwanted gazes, the woman made an almighty leap through the air, landing catlike on the sprawling sands, her body making no impression at all on the yellow grains.

 

Fighting the urge to swipe non-existent grains of sand off of her body, Dana sprang upwards from the ground, feeling as she had quite a lot as of recently, rather disorientated at the fact that she could only half feel the solid ground beneath her opaque feet. She could tell that it was there, but it just did not feel as solid as it should have done; she did not want to consider the horrifyingly truthful thought that she was the one who was out of place, not the environment around her. For now, she pushed the unwanted and distressing thoughts to the back of her mind, carefully picking her way across the wastes, casting wary looks around at the unfamiliar environment.

 

Inexplicably, Dana knew that she was not in Night Vale, although she could not pinpoint the exact reason why. She had accidentally found herself shifting to many different locations as of late- the Dog Park, The House That Does not Exist, The City Hall and very occasionally this odd desert. She could have sworn that she had passed through Carlos at one point, but the steady shifting of locations resulted in her thoughts becoming easily confused as reality seemed stretched and impossible. At every person she had stumbled upon she had stretched out a seeking hand, but all had ignored her, had not even seemed able to see her. And so, she had been in a constant state of spinning locations, never stopping for long in one particular spot. Occasionally, if she tried extremely hard to concentrate, she would linger for a little while in one place, but she had never really had a reason to do so yet. But for some reason, something felt strange about this current location; something seemed to have nagged at her mind as she felt her body pulled to the different locations, and she finally felt that it was time to explore. 

 

Slowly, as the roiling piles of sand faded further behind her she spotted a large and familiar structure on the horizon; she jerked with surprise as her eyes took in a large radio tower. Surely not? She was so certain that she was not in Night Vale-

 

The careful quietness of her approach was broken by a steady whirring in the distance, as the constant thrum of blades rotating through the air cut to her opaque ears, and she gazed worriedly up at the sky, realising in this open space that she had absolutely nowhere to hide. A large, yellow helicopter glided languidly through the air, and she frowned at the shining metal body, so very different from the smooth, black monstrosities that sometimes hovered over Night Vale. As she took in the insignia of a triangle with a large 's' within it, her eyes widened in realisation. Strexcorp- so…she must be in Desert Bluffs.

 

The mere thought of this caused her to gulp nervously; no citizen with sense would _ever_ go to Desert Bluffs by choice. Whenever it was mentioned in Night Vale, their enemy town was always accompanied with a sense of disgust, with a vicious assertion that it was beneath their own little town. Admittedly, Dana did not know much about their neighbouring desert town, but the thought of visiting the loathed place was a very unwelcome one to say the least. But the nagging feeling still lingered, drawing her forwards helplessly, and she approached the radio tower, hoping fiercely that her body would not choose now to slip back into the planes of non-existence. 

 

 

With a steady thrum, the whirring rotors passed on overhead; thankfully, it appeared as if they had not noticed her shimmering form on the ground, although Dana supposed that she would be quite difficult to spot from that distance. She felt an absurd sense of relief when it had passed, as she had hated the thought of mysterious strangers watching her, perhaps with malicious intentions. The sounds of the blades rotating had all but vanished now, and she shook herself vigorously before moving on.

 

She had almost reached the radio station now, the unfamiliar tower which stood so imperiously over her came into sharper focus as she craned her neck to gaze closely at it. It was very odd, as Dana had a strong urge in her gut telling her that there was something important within, and yet she felt almost as certain that she should not enter that intimidating place. She debated with herself for a few moments, weighing up her options as she waited on the sidewalk. If this station was anything like the one which waited back home, there should be at least one window around the back which she could peer into, and perhaps one would reveal what exactly it was that she seeked. It was a very flimsy plan, but Dana had no other options, and she knew full well that the longer she lingered the more there was the chance of her sudden disappearance. Peering with a furtive glance around at the curiously empty streets, she willed her faint feet to move her around the corner of the building.

 

The walls, so cheerily painted with vibrant yellow paint seemed carelessly dirty, whether from dust or simply lack of upkeep she did not know. There was a slight air of abandonment which hung around the place, but she could clearly see lights towards the top of the tower glowing even in the strong daylight, so she knew this could not be true. The first few windows that she approached were blocked from the sunlight by black blinds printed with the insignia of a yellow sun and she passed these without much thought; somehow, she was certain that what she seeked would not be concealed from her. The next few blinds along made her clap a hand to her mouth in horror; on these windows, the blinds were white and stained with the unmistakeable scarlet splatters of blood. 

 

That sight alone was horrible, but what made it infinitely worse was that these fresh, harsh stains soaked into the material overlaid older stains, brown with age. Dana did not have a true body to feel sick with, but the sight was undeniably nauseating and she moved as quickly as her opaque feet could manage away from them. What _was_ this place? What horrors lurked behind those bloodstained blinds? Dana was incredibly glad now that she had not chosen to go inside, but she feared for whatever it was that she was searching for

 

Dana did not want to look at any more windows; the thought of having to gaze upon more blood made her almost wish that now was the time that her body would choose to disappear. But, even as she wished this, an uncovered window loomed in front of her, the glass glittering in the strong sun. Hesitantly, although that strong pull urged her forwards, she approached the window and peered in, squinting against the darkness within the room.

 

 

Behind the window seemed to be a radio booth, and the familiarity of the set up tugged at her as it hit her how much she missed interning at Night Vale Radio, missed chatting to Cecil and the other inters, missed _home_. She was so lost in her reminiscing that she almost missed the dark shape huddled in the middle of the room, the dark shape that looked suspiciously like the figure of a man. She leaned closer to the window, wanting to grasp her hands onto the wall for balance but knowing that she would feel no resistance. It was difficult to completely make out, but, oh god, he looked like he was bound to a chair and was he wearing…was he wearing a lab coa-

 

_Carlos._

 

With a stab of recognition, her eyes raked over the head which was flung over the back of the seat, those once luscious, dark curls cascading carelessly in a rough mess. He looked _awful_ ; his skin had a pallid sweaty look, he looked bruised beyond belief and she could see the skin on his hands chafing horribly where he was tied to the chair, the redness of them making her own hands twitch in sympathy. He looked absolutely exhausted, so Dana was almost relieved that the was currently unconscious, although she ached to tap the glass, to wake up his despondent figure and call out that she was going to try and save him. Feebly, she lifted a hand towards the pathetic figure trapped in the room, her only thought was _where is Cecil?_ Surely he must have tried to put a stop to whatever horrible fate had befallen Carlos. But, seeing him trapped there made her realise the horrible truth that whatever had happened, Cecil must have failed. 

 

If only her form was not so temporary, if only she had the strength to smash through this window and save him, she would do so in a heartbeat. But here she was, as temporal as a ghost, as ineffective as smoke, only able to watch and observe. Inside the room Carlos slept on unknowingly, his chest rising and falling with laboured heaving, and her heart went out to him.

 

_Click._

 

Dana jumped at the sudden movement; the door to the booth which entrapped Carlos appeared to be opening, and seeing a dark figure approaching Carlos, Dana panicked. _I've got to save him_ , she thought desperately, _I've got to_ \- but equally, she did not want to be spotted by the dark figure entering the room who had luckily not chanced a look at the window in the fear that they would attack her and prevent her from ever saving Carlos. She made to move away from the window, and as she did so, her body twisted a little too much through the air, became a little too distorted for the simple turn. She gasped, feeling the familiar sensation of her body being tugged at impossible destinations, at the peculiar motion that was the precursor to her sudden shifting of locations. Desperately, she tried all she could to anchor herself to the present moment, but her body was traitorous towards her now; with one last gasp, Carlos, the window and the desert around her disappeared.

 

The In-Between was always a slightly traumatic experience no matter how much Dana tried to get used to it. Simultaneously, it felt as if her body was whole and also shattered into a million pieces, speeding through the void with a predetermined destination which had absolutely nothing to do with her. Sometimes, she could have some semblance of control over where she eventually ended up, but more often than not Dana was forced by some mysterious hand to shift to unknown locations. This particular journey was laced with regret as well as the usual fear, as she hated leaving Carlos. Slowly, slowly, the spinning began to cease, as she felt her body begin to coalesce back into her temporary state.

 

This time, she had materialised straight onto the ground, and she swore she could almost _feel_ the sand this time. _Sand._ She jerked with surprise, spinning around on the spot as she took in the incredible image of that glittering, yellow desert around her. She craned her neck,; impossibly, stood over her like a mocking figure was the radio tower she had been walking underneath not long before; it seemed that she was not too far from the window that she had just been stood behind. Dana could not believe it; never had she materialised such a short distance beofre. There had to be a reason, there had-

 

A voice, high and lilting on the breeze, cut through her racing thoughts. It seemed to be coming from close by, although Dana could see no figure around her, no matter how much she searched. Frowning, she leant closer towards where she thought the source might be, straining her ears to catch the sweet voice,

 

"…I know. I know what I've been told. No, I wouldn't dream of disobeying! It's just-" There was a pause; there seemed to be a faint, low voice in reply to the man's, as if he was speaking on a phone. The original voice seemed so pause, as if savouring the words, "I want to go in. I want to see him, to _touch_ him." A gulp could be heard, " _Please_."

 

Even Dana could hear the angry buzzing from the phone, and the man sighed, sounding extremely disappointed. "Okay, okay. No, I understand." he paused again, and when he spoke his voice sounded wistful, "He's just such a _pretty_ little thing." 

 

Dana shivered; this sweetly talking man  could only be talking about Carlos, and she did not like the way the spoke about him as if he was a little pet that lived in the radio station, a pet that he desired to play with. Once again, she cast her eyes around intently, trying to seek him out. 

  

"I _am_ looking after him. I've given him his medicine, and even some water. I'll give him some food too if he's polite to me." 

 

A harsh laugh could be heard from the phone, and Dana could practically hear the grin on the mans voice, "I know. He probably won''t be eating for a while. So pretty, but _very_ badly behaved."

 

It was wrong how such a sweet voice could say such horrible words with that amount of relish. Dana wanted to leave, she would make a plan, and she would return for Carlos, but she needed to leave this venomous man, who spoke of such unpleasant things with such comfortableness. Before she could move, the voice spoke again,

 

"The Appeal is rather irritating, yes, and quite spoils the fun. I'm going to make sure he is…well looked after. I'll try my very _best,_ and if not…I have my methods."

 

The voice seemed to be approaching somehow, and Dana panicked, spinning around on the sand as she tried to work out where to go, where on earth she could escape to. She attempted backtracking across the sand, willing and willing her body to disappear from this hated place as it had done only moments before. She turned once more and came to an abrupt halt as she suddenly came face to face with a man, her eyes widening in shock as she took in his familiar figure, so unexpected in this odd place.

 

"Cecil, what are _you_ doing-"

 

Immediately, as if she had been stabbed, she stopped. That twisted face was _not_ Cecil. Cocking his head at her curiously, the man who looked so very similar to the cheerful broadcaster she knew so well grinned an awful, crooked smile,

 

"My, my, this Cecil seems to be quite the popular man! I would _kill_ to meet him."

 

He reached out a hand to grab her and she screamed, jolting away from those long fingered, sharp hands. Thankfully, as he drew back his hand with a sharp-toothed laugh, Dana could feel her body begin that dizzying, disintegrating feeling, but the man only smiled horribly at her as she felt her body evaporate, his words hovering harshly in the breezeless air.

 

"If you _do_ see him, tell him Carlos says hi, won't you, dear? I think he misses him." His voice was full of mock sadness, "He won't soon, you see. I'll make sure of that."

 

And, feeling immensely relieved that she was leaving this horrifying man far behind her, Dana disappeared, hearing only the lingering smatter of cruel, tinkling laughter.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Weeeell. I'm so sorry for taking so incredibly long, but I think you should really forgive me because this chapter is almost 10,000 words long. Bad planning, that's what I call it. But THANK YOU so much for reading, even though I am bad at the updates. Sorry, so sorry. I need to concentrate more on the quality, I feel its slipping. But never mind, and thank you for reading! It's bleak, god I know that, but remember- Cecilos heals all. Supposedly. 
> 
> Seriosuly, thank you for reading/commenting/generally being awesome!
> 
> Any questions, come to my Night Vale blog,  
> http://sexybaldwin.tumblr.com/  
> I don't bite, I only throw the complainers into the Glow Cloud.

 

 

The sound of heavy panting matched the click of swift footsteps as Cecil wasted absolutely no time on his hopeless journey towards the fearful Dog Park. The vast sense of relief he felt as the Library slunk further and further away from him was replaced by a certain sense of dread that only the idea of ignoring all warning and actually entering the Dog Park could induce. Thankfully, he saw nobody on those empty streets, and he hoped with a fervent desire that this did not mean that  they had been cleared off the streets by another perilous entity. He took deeper breaths, trying in vain to stabilise his breathing so that his loud pants were not quite so audible in those quiet streets, and, laboured breathing somewhat quietened, he turned a corner to see those looming, black gates.

 

The Dog Park. He had hardly ever dared to go past it, although each citizen was well acquainted with that forbidden place. Exactly why it had been built, nobody quite knew, but equally none had questioned its mysterious purposes. Like many things in Night Vale, it just Was. Why it was there was unquestionable, and Cecil had a strange feeling that whoever attempted to dwell to deeply into the mystery would never remember much again, let alone the Dog Park. When Cecil drew up to the main gates, affecting a deliberate slowness, his heart sank as he saw a thick, rusty looking lock snaking its way around the metal spikes, fastening it shut with an undeniably strong grip. He _had_ assumed that this might happen, and yet he still eyed that strong looking obstacle with a morose gaze, unable to quite believe that his plan might fail after he had tried so hard to persevere.

 

 

He leaned closer to inspect it; occasionally in Night Vale, mundane objects had the tendency to reveal not so innocent qualities when one payed close enough attention, so he peered at the metal lock with a critical eye, seeking any rune or marking that might gain him entry. As he moved closer to the gate, a quick movement in the corner of his eye made him immediately stand up straight, and he cricked his neck around as fast as he could manage to try and catch what had bothered him.

 

Stood there, its cloak swaying nonchalantly in the slight breeze, stood a tall hooded figure, its slender figure the only other sign of life on the empty streets. It had paused as Cecil turned to look at it, staring straight at him with that unknowable dark stare he had grown so recently to despise. For this time, rather than feeling a sense of fear, Cecil was growing angry at these trailing figures that had once seemed so docile, such a harmless part of his life. What had Carlos ever done to them? Why had they taken sides so easily, without a fight? He clenched his fists, and turned his body fully, filled with the absurd desire to shout at this menace until it left him alone.

 

However, before he had time to do so, the hooded figure extended its arm and put a finger to its hidden mouth in an unmistakable shushing gesture, utterly confusing Cecil and making the furious words die in his mouth. Without further ado, the strange creature lifted down its dark hood, revealing the completely unexpected and undeniably welcome head of one of Josie's angels, the many eyes staring down at Cecil with an imperious, challenging gaze. Never had he been so relieved to see an angel, and for the first time in what felt like an age he smiled up at that imposing creature, his horror giving way to a tentative hope.

 

Without a sound, the angel strode past Cecil and towards the serpentine lock, its arms outstretched to stoke the metal with a delicate touch. As its long, clawed hands made contact with the lock, the previously dark metal glowed a vibrant white, a bright and welcome contest to the dour black that surrounded it. When the lock did not budge, the angel seemed to pause, running a clever finger over the keyhole as if in deep consideration. With a swift movement, it grasped the lock with both gnarled hands and seemed to inhale even though Cecil could see no visible mouth; he heard a huff of air, and the angel began to sing.

 

Soft, tender notes seemed to float through the air and down towards the dark keyhole, and Cecil turned his ears towards the noise in utter delight; never had he heard such a lovely sound, such a sweet tune that seemed to seek out his ear with an inquisitive touch. The notes somehow seemed to be probing the lock softly, and he could almost hear the smooth sounds echoing around in that tiny, enclosed space as if seeking a way to turn the internal lock. The angel listened to the echoing note for a moment, its head cocked slightly to the side, and with a suddenness that made Cecil jump, it let out a harsh cry which seemed to stab savagely through the air directly towards the keyhole of the locked gate. 

 

 

With a loud _click_ , the lock fell open and clattered down the metal poles to come to rest on the ground beneath, the black metal gate swinging open as it was released from the strong hold from which it had been bound. With an easy stride, the angel ducked its head and passed through the exposed archway, turning around to glance imperiously at Cecil when he did not immediately respond. Feeling slightly embarrassed, he gathered himself quickly and moved beneath the metal archway, grasping both sides of the metal gate to haul himself after the heavily cloaked angel. 

 

The Dog Park was undeniably a strange place. Cecil was not quite sure what exactly he had been expecting, but it was most certainly _not_ a vast open space of nothingness, as no trees, no plants and no distinguishing landmarks were visible around him. The space in front of them seemed oddly dark, as if there was a wall of something similar to smoke in front of them, but Cecil's spirits were buoyed by the cheerful thought that if this angel was leading him through the Dog Park, then surely Josie must be close, and he could not wait to see a familiar and welcome face. 

 

They drew towards the oncoming darkness, and the closer they moved towards it Cecil realised that he had been mistaken; it was not darkness at all, but a huge, labyrinthine hedge which wound with an overgrown tangle into the unknowable distance. His heart sank at the thought of another foray into twisting and turning avenues so close to his last disastrous attempt, but the figure walking swiftly in front of him oozed confidence, and he trusted that he would be lead the right way.

 

Dark purple flowers, not at all unpleasant, seemed to grow in the tangle of hedges, with dark, vicious looking thorns adorning the long stems. A few exposed thorns tugged at Cecil's clothes, and he ripped his brightly patterned shirt sway from the grasping plants, still wondering why on earth the Dog Park contained this maze of foliage, or more to the point _how_ considering lush hedges did to usually choose to grow in a desert environment. Although, Cecil had to admit that far stranger things had occurred in his town, so he regarded them only with a polite sort of interest.

 

The hooded angel strode with confidence down those leafy avenues, somehow avoiding snagging the trailing cloak on the hungry thorns as it walked with more gracefulness than Cecil could ever hope to achieve. They followed many twists and turns, and Cecil tried his best to memorise the way he had come from for future reference, but the place seemed to follow no logic; sometimes they would seem to loop on themselves only to reach a part of the maze that Cecil was certain they had not reached. Other times, they passed holes in the side of the hedges, and the angel would squeeze through one, staring back at Cecil expectantly until he followed suit. It was most disorientating. 

 

But they persevered, and Cecil's legs were beginning to throb with a dull and persistent ache; his escapade in the library had tired him out greatly, and even this steady walk was beginning to take a toll on his energy and every step made him grit his teeth as he heaved his tired limbs onwards. But his desire to meet with Josie in the relative privacy of this maze was too tantalising an opportunity to miss, and besides he knew that if he attempted to leave without the aid of this angel then he would probably be wandering down these twisting passages for the rest of his life. They continued walking, and he dragged his legs forwards, his forehead perspiring from the sheer effort of it. 

  

Somehow, he could tell that they were nearing the centre of the labyrinth of hedges; they were moving more frequently down passages, and Cecil could _feel_ the hedges beginning to press closer upon them. Despite the fact that he could see the sky above him, a clogging sense of claustrophobia began to effect him, but he tried his hardest to beat down the sudden panic, focusing desperately on those pleasant purple flowers rather that the oppressive space around him. The leading angel strode around another corner, but this time it broke the silence with a sudden cry, somewhat muffled by the hedge it had just passed. Heart beating quickly, Cecil turned around the corner, his eyes flickering as he took in the unexpected open space..

 

Stood proudly, looking as peculiarly out of place as the hedges had been in the desert town, stood a large marble fountain, completely empty of any water at all. Adorning the empty marble basin were many intricately carved eyes, identical to the symbol of Night Vale and gazing outwards with an uncomfortable sort of intense gaze; he tried to hold in a shiver as the yes seemed to lock directly onto him. Standing within the stone basin was a single hooded figure carved from white stone, its cloaked marble arms outstretched and grasping two carved objects. Cecil moved closer towards its impressive figure in order to get a closer look, his gaze raking over the devastatingly beautiful stonework, his mind in awe of the fact that that had he not known it was created from mere stone then he would have thought there was an actual hooded figure stood imposingly in the basin. He peered closer; in its left hand the figure grasped a stone eye similar to the others engraved onto the basin, but the moon within the pupil was much more prominent, carved from a purer white marble that shone out from that which surrounded it. In its right hand it proudly held a stone sun, its jagged edges so different from the smoothness of the Night Vale insignia. 

 

What exactly it all meant, Cecil did not know, but any further inspection of the strange statue was interrupted by a loud and pointed cough slightly to the left of him. At the unexpected noise, he whirled around and took in the absurd image of a wooden park bench, on which sat the blessedly familiar figure of Old Woman Josie, her faithful wooden stick propped up beside her. Cecil never thought he had been so happy to see that penetrating gaze emerging from those dark glasses, and he made his way over to her, his voice inflected with uncontainable glee,

 

"Josie!" He stopped just in front of her, staring down at her calm figure with a large, toothy smile, "Oh Josie, it's so _good_ to see you-"

 

"Cecil." That steady voice, so different from the harsh, deep tone that had emerged so very recently, cut through his joy, "When I told you to meet me at the Dog Park, I did _not_ mean 'via the only other place in town that is just as dangerous'." Her eyes raked over his clothes which he now realised were covered in dust, at his dishevelled hair which had been dragged along with the rest of his body across the floor, and exasperation was clear in her voice. "The Library, Cecil, give me strength. The _Library._ "

 

Feeling rather hurt at her admonishing voice, Cecil folded his arms, unable to prevent the slight petulant tone from entering his voice, "Well, what did you expect me to do? I was being followed! I mean, sure, the Library might not have been my _best_ idea ever, but it was either that or lead them here." 

 

A small sigh followed his words, and Josie sat up a little straighter on the bench to stare evenly at the man with his slightly clenched fists and even stormier expression, "Yes, you are quite right. I apologise for my hastiness." Politely, Cecil inclined his head; apologies from Josie were not particularly frequent, as he had learnt the hard way growing up, and he always tried to be respectful towards her. Seeing his movement, she gave the faintest of smiles. 

"Well done for managing to escape that horrible place- I take it you were followed by a Hooded Figure?" At Cecil's nod, she lifted her hand and pointed at the clock on the angel which had led Cecil through the maze of hedges. "I see. As you may be able to tell from your guider Erika, we had an, ah, _similar_ encounter which I…took care of." 

 

Her smoothly spoken words had a somewhat sinister undertone, and Cecil couldn't help his eyes from flickering from her to the angel stood next to him. He had assumed that Josie had picked up the cloak from somewhere, she was a rather resourceful woman, but now he had given it some inspection he could see that the cloak adorning the angel was more ragged than one would usually expect from a pristinely dressed hooded figure, almost as if it had been torn away from a struggling body. Watching him on the bench, Josie's expression remained mild, but, as usual, Cecil was reminded that despite appearances Josie was not the docile old lady one might expect. He probably should have felt frightened by this fact, but in his present environment the thought was oddly comforting. Feeling her gaze still upon him, he cleared his throat.

 

"So, Josie, why the Dog Park? I mean, it's a bit _dangerous,_ isn't it?"

 

At his words, Josie's slight smile stretched wider, and if Cecil had known what it was like to have an admonishing grandmother that is exactly how he would have described her expression,

 

"Oh Cecil, do you truly believe that everything is dangerous just because you are _told_ that it is?" 

 

His cheeks reddened in embarrassment as she continued to smile benignly up at him; he suddenly felt very foolish, and it made him stammer,

 

"W-w-ell, _yes,_ I suppose-"

 

"Good." He cringed away from her sharp tone, "Because the Dog Park _is_ dangerous. Unbelievably so." 

 

He opened his mouth to retort, but the words died in his throat, his complete lack of energy rendering his mind dull and unable to think of anything properly witty to respond with. Josie's sharp eyes noticed his uncharacteristic pause, and when she spoke next it was with a gentleness that she had previously lacked,

 

"Come, sit down on the bench next to me. I rather think you deserve an explanation, and you might as well have a seat, albeit a slightly uncomfortable one."

 

Filled with gratitude, all Cecil could do was nod his head weakly before he lowered himself slowly onto the bench, giving a small huff of relief as he set his aching limbs down on the wood. Josie allowed him a few moments to relax, then spoke to him, facing the strange fountain in front of them.

 

"You asked why I chose to meet here, and rightly so, as we all know that this place is the holdfast for the hooded figures. But, do you see any hooded figures in here?"

 

Cecil shook his head; apart from the one that had been trailing him, he had seen neither hide nor hair of a hooded figure either outside or within the environs of the park. Spying his head shake, Josie nodded in satisfaction. "Precisely. It seems, somewhat ironically, that the one place that for the moment is fully free of hooded figures is the Dog park." 

 

Cecil opened his mouth to ask a question, but Josie held up her hand as if she anticipated what he was about to say,

 

"Do not ask me why; I do not know. I merely speculate, and even then I could be completely mistaken."

 

Cecil looked at her with a quirked eyebrow; every citizen knew that Josie was the wisest person in town, and more often than not her 'speculations' proved to be more than accurate. 

 

"You must have some idea though, surely?"

 

"Well, we can only assume that they have been ordered from the Dog Park to partake in some nefarious deed. Obviously, they have been sent to trail us, and they must know by now that we are no longer being watched, so it is only a matter of time before they find us."

 

 At her words, Cecil could not help but gaze worriedly around them as if he expected hundreds of concealed hooded figures to burst through the hedges and close in on them in a murderous circle, but Josie's gaze remained steadily in front of her, ever calm. "Do not worry, Cecil. We shall get out; I will assure it."

 

As if to add further weight to her words, the angel crooned softly and moved to stand on Josie's right side, almost keeping guard of her like the most faithful of hounds. With a fond smile, she patted its hand, the highest point that she could reach from her sitting position. She turned to Cecil,

 

"You remember how docile the hooded figures used to be before this whole awful business happened, yes?"

 

Startled at the sudden question, Cecil stammered,

 

"Y-yes."

 

"Well, I believe they must be bing controlled, just…just like we were." She could not help a twist of bitterness to enter her voice at the mention of that horrible occasion, "I have always thought that the hooded figures seemed particularly in tune to the radio, and I have _never_ in all of my days seen them follow orders like that before."

 

They mused silently for a few moments, their quiet little space in the centre of the maze almost a bubble of safety from the imposing outside world. It felt wonderful to have company, and the longer he spent with Josie the less Cecil desired to go back to his awful, lonely home, and he almost wished that he could remain by the beautifully engraved fountain with Josie for the unforeseeable future. But, he knew he could not, because as much as he valued her company his heart burned for somebody else, yearned for that once familiar touch. He had not been trying to forget Carlos, even though the mere thought of him made him want to cry to the hooded figures to just take him away instead, and the thought of the beautiful scientist, so afraid and so very upset, filled his mind until he had to ask,

 

"Josie, you don't think…do you think they are working for The Harvester?" 

 

At the mere mention of that dreaded name, the very air seemed to freeze around them, the very hedges seemed to shrink away in pure horror that only those few syllables could elicit. The angel let out a low, warning croon, but Josie, after she had recovered from her similarly frozen position, patted its hand again in a comforting sort of way. Shaking herself, she brought her gaze fully upon Cecil, who looked like he slightly regretted saying the name out loud.

 

"Ah, the Harvester." In her voice, the words seemed to shiver; unlike him she did not speak with terror but with a guardedness that only she could afford. "What a mess. What a complete, utter mess."

 

He could not contain it anymore; now that the subject had been broached, all of Cecil's roiling thoughts, all of his worries and fears and desperation heaved to the forefront of his mind, threatening to spill in a chaotic jumble out of his mouth. He turned to the kindly old lady desperately, and it was obvious that he desired to take her hands, to anchor himself to this fickle and uncaring place.

 

"Josie, _please_ , they took Carlos and he's…he's the only thing that I've ever…and they're going to-"

 

"Cecil," startled by his desperate babble, she grasped his hand between her two smaller ones, speaking firmly, "Cecil you need to calm- 

 

But he shook his head, as if attempting to shake off her soothing words. He was so forcefully remembered of the static eyed Josie and her awful words, and he had to ask, he needed to know, and he locked his eyes upon her, 

 

"They mentioned a-an Appeal."

 

"Yes." She gazed up at his frantic face with a level stare, understanding that this was the only hop he had left to cling on to. "Yes, before I was consumed I managed to launch an appeal with the help of my Erikas. Rather sloppily, I amy add, but we managed it, and it was accepted."

 

Cecil sunk lower onto the bench, his body sagging with relief. He had almost thought that it had been a lie, a cruel lie to lure him into a false sense of security so that he would be less tempted to find Carlos, and Josie's assertion made him feel a sense of relief that was akin to floating. However, rather than sharing his victorious feelings, the old lady was staring down at him with an expression that spoke only of deep and utter pity. For Josie understood more than Cecil would ever know, could ever know, but she would not allow him to hold onto false hope; it would be disastrous in the long run. And so she seemed to take a deep breath, and when she spoke her voice was full of an infinite delicacy.

 

"He's not going to win it, Cecil."

 

The world seemed to stop, the very air seemed to pause. Cecil absorbed her words with a head shaking with disbelief, unable and unwilling to believe them.

 

"No." he said it simply, as if it was the undeniable truth. "No, because we are going to _make_ him win."

 

"Cecil." Although it was firm, her voice was full of an ancient sadness, but Josie would not pretend. Cecil had to know, he had to know the consequences.

 

"They're going to kill him." 

 

" _No_ -"

 

" _Yes_ Cecil, yes they are!" Her voice whipped viciously through the quiet air, causing the angel to croon softly in concern at the sudden noise, "And there is no point in pretending otherwise! I know you think I am some kind of trick card, that I will be able to make everything better in an instant, but you are _wrong_. I cannot fix this, you know how hard I have tried in the past." 

 

At her words, Cecil's anger flared with an intensity that he had not expected, but rather than mute it, he welcomed it. He had always respected Josie, had always looked up to her, and to see her state the facts so blandly and with no fight made anger boil like hot vile in his stomach. He half rose from the bench, his face full of challenge as he spat,

 

"So you're just going to give up? Just going to let Carlos die, are we? Walk away and pretend he never existed?"

 

 

Josie remained on the bench, her absolute coolness a stark contrast to the apoplectic man who was sat so threateningly beside her. She knew exactly how uncaring she must be appearing at the moment, but as soon as Josie had seen those slack jawed, static filled faces lining the streets of Night Vale, she knew that they were all embroiled in an elaborate game, a game that had to be handled with the utmost delicacy if they hoped to win. She had been feeling an odd sense of unease these last coming months, and it had only recently occurred to her that the origin of these bad feelings had began when Carlos had arrived in their little town. She understood so much more than the man in front of her, and she had no time, no _time._

 

 And Cecil, the man who had once contained such fight, such defiance, had seemed so utterly despondent as he had entered the centre of the maze, almost as if he had accepted Carlos's fate. She knew the fire that lay beneath Cecil's surface, hell, the whole town knew how passionate the genial radio host could get when he was pushed. So, to see this flare of anger in him, this willingness to fight gave her hope, and she was glad to see that passion still moved within him. She did not wish to tell him any of this, it would ruin her careful plans, so she stared at him coolly. 

 

"Of _course_ not." she humphed. "I am just laying the cold facts down so we can be wholly clear on it. I will do all in my power to help, but the fact of the matter is is that they are probably going to kill him before we even get close."

 

"Well, then." His voice was dangerously matter of fact as he straightened himself up, his eyebrow quirks as if he expected a challenge, "Looks like we're going to have to move pretty fast, huh?"

 

Seeing his face shining with such defiance, Josie had to suppress a smile. _Here_ was her Cecil, always willing to do the right thing no matter the consequences. She stared him straight in the eye, hoping to impress upon him the absolute importance of the matter as she said mildly,

 

"Even if it means defying the station?" 

 

There was a soft gulp as Cecil absorbed her words fully. To defy the station, the one place that felt like home, the one place that had always felt so right; his calling? But Cecil remembered with perfect clarity the vile things he had been forced to say, the sinister blood which had worked so hard against him, the threat of re-education, and he knew the only answer he could say.

 

"Yes." At first his voice seemed slight hesitant, but as he spoke it grew in strength, "What they did to Carlos, what they made me say…" Teeth bared, his face twisted into something angrier, inhuman, "I will _tear the station apart_ just to get him back." 

 

It was impossible to doubt that fearsome expression and, filled with a sudden pride, Josie nodded. 

 

"Excellent. Well, it just so happens that I have some ideas as to where they may have taken Carlos." 

 

Slowly, Cecil relaxed his posture which had become rigid in his anger, settling back onto the bench as he gave Josie his full attention. Now that he knew they were on the track to retrieving Carlos from wherever the hell he had ended up, he could feel the hopelessness leeching away into a kind of furious productiveness; they were going to fight, it was going to be okay. It had to be. Seeing his suddenly attentive gaze, Josie continued, "But it won't be easy." 

 

Cecil gave a derisive snort,

"Since when is anything ever easy?" 

 

Josie had to concede the point, but chose not to answer directly. Instead, she continued with the information that she had slowly been gathering for the past few days.

 

'Indeed. But I do not think you fully understand the gravity of the situation." Cecil's slight grin slowly faded as he regarded the utter seriousness on her face, at her undeniably grave countenance.

 

"I don't?"

 

"No, because I think…I think they have taken him to Desert Bluffs."

 

Something large and icy seemed to stab deeply into Cecil's stomach at the mention of that dreaded place; he could not help but stare at her with a horror struck expression as the horrific words sunk in. Desert Bluffs? It was true that he did not know an awful lot about the neighbouring town, but memories of viscera encrusted soundboards, of knocked out and broken teeth adorning the walls, the stretched out smile of an all too familiar looking stranger….no. He did not want to believe it. He _would_ _not_ believe it.

 

"Desert Bluffs?" he croaked, "Surely not? Surely-"

 

"Cecil," her voice was sombre, urgent,"Do you remember that vortex you were pulled into a few months ago? The one you mentioned on your show?" 

 

Mouth dry, Cecil could only shiver at the memory. He remembered vividly that horrible occasion, his feet wet with blood, the stench of it overwhelming his nostrils in the torpid heat of the day. And he could almost hear the low buzz of the vortex, he realised why the hum he had heard before Carlos was taken away seemed so familiar. Numbly, he nodded,

 

"Oh yes, I remember it."

 

"Well, I believe that Carlos has been taken to a similar location. I came to this conclusion because I think they want him far enough to be out of Night Vale, but not too far away that it would be difficult to retrieve him."

 

Cecil thought about this for a moment. It seemed to make some semblance of sense, but equally the thought of anyone deliberately setting foot in that horrifying place continued to justify him.

 

"But, but why Desert Bluffs? No one in their right mind-"

 

" _Exactly._ No one in their right mind would go there, no one would _want_ to fetch Carlos from there. Perhaps…perhaps they think you would not go back."

 

For a few moments, Cecil seethed on the bench, his hands clenching and unclenching on his lap as he became infuriated with this slight on his character. Of course he hated Desert Bluffs, everyone did, but how could anyone believe that he would pick his hatred of that dreaded place over his love for Carlos? It was utterly absurd, and he spoke through gritted teeth.

 

"Well then, they thought wrong. But it still doesn't make any sense- if there is going to be an appeal, surely they would lock him up under the vaults of the City Hall? For the trail?"

 

"Yes, one would assume so. But, I think they plan to get the business over and done with, discreetly and in the desert." She gave a long, weary sigh."After all, who would stand up to a Harvesting?"

 

Cecil threw her an absolutely incredulous stare, puffing out his chest in indignation.

 

"I would."

 

"Yes, Cecil, I know that.' The voice was almost exasperated. " _Goodness_ knows I know that. But look what good standing up has done to you. We're further away from helping Carlos than we could ever hope to be."

 

A little annoyed at her doom laden analysis, Cecil's couldn't help but feel a little moodiness seep into his tone, "What was the point of staging an Appeal then, if there is nothing we can do?"

 

"Cecil." Her voice, unexpectedly, was full of pity. "Not for one single second did I believe that he would ever pass the Appeal. I did it only because I knew it would buy us a little time. They were going to kill Carlos there and then, could you not _feel_ it?"

 

At her words, Cecil's mind was cast back to being stood outside of his old house, the blasting rays of sunlight burning his skin, the unclear memories of a life torn again and again from his mind assaulting him as he stood outside of that ramshackle house trying to remember exactly why it brought on such dark thoughts. When that presence had invaded his mind, he _had_ felt the hatred, the desire to kill Carlos there on the sand, the complete yearning for bloodlust. Eyes dull, he nodded at Josie and she tipped her head back at him.

 

"Precisely. I bought us time, and we do not have much of it left. You need to go as soon as possible if we hope to succeed." 

 

Cecil gulped, the sound loud in that quiet, forgotten space. The thought of returning to that dreaded place was almost inconceivable, but he knew he must do it. He could see one very large flaw in her plan however, and he was not altogether sure how they were going to solve it. Hesitantly, he voiced his fears.

 

"Very well. But, Josie, _how_ am I going to get there? Unless you know how to whip up a vort-"

 

But Josie was not listening to his nervously spoken words; in fact, her head was not facing Cecil at all,  as it was turned intently towards the archway of leaves that Cecil and his accompanying angel had passed through not too long before. Cecil frowned in confusion; he had heard no sound at all that would warrant this amount of attention, but there was Josie, reacting as if she had heard a loud crash, or a signal that somebody moved beyond the hedge. Frowning slightly, her voice was hesitant, wary, 

 

"Something is wrong. I don't-" 

 

As she spoke, a very thin line of light rent the air above the dark leaves, visible above the unseeable top of the surrounding hedges. Even Cecil recognised that is was the work of an angel, as no other light in the world shone with such pure, utter brilliance, and he turned to Josie in concern, only able to wonder at what this strange sign could mean. She turned back, her voice inflected with the utmost urgency, her eyes wide behind her dark glasses.

 

"They are here, they are in the maze. We don't have long."

 

"Josie, I should go-"

 

"No, we can stay a few moments longer." She peered up at the sky as if expecting another ray of light, but no more were forthcoming. Seeming satisfied for the moment, she pointed at the angel stood beside her, "I will allow this Erika to guide you back; if you make it out of the dog park with them in the cloak, then the other hooded figures will assume you have been captured and you will be able to return to your home safely."

 

He almost sighed with relief, but then his mind caught up with what she had just so nonchalantly stated. He moved closer to her, 

 

"But, Josie, what about you-"

 

"I," she said simply, "Shall manage."

 

"But-"

 

"Cecil, you don't manage to reach my age in Night Vale without knowing a few tricks." He shut his mouth, feeling rather chastised, "Besides, I value your safety over mine anyway. You will take my Erika, and you will go home."

 

"Home? But, we need to act _now-"_

 

"I _know_ Cecil, oh, how much do I know!" Finally, she sounded frustrated, and her eyes continued to flicker towards the dark archway, "But we cannot act until at least tomorrow, and even tomorrow might be too soon. At any rate, you need to be at the station, and it will be too suspicious to go back now."

 

"But…but I don't understand-"

 

"Cecil, listen to me, and listen closely." She grasped his arm with a steely grip, and he was utterly trapped in her ferocious gaze, unable to move even if he had wanted to, "What I propose to do may not work, but we have to try."

 

"...Right, okay."

 

"You need to continue your broadcast as normal, and you will see a signal from me. I cannot tell you what it will be, as I do not know myself! Ah!" She held up a hand as cecil tried to butt in, "Do not worry- you _will_ know what it is. You will know what to do when you see it."

 

"Josie," He said it warningly- there was too much he did not understand, too much that could potentially go wrong. But, she only nodded her head, sighing again.

 

"I know Cecil, I know." She sounded infinitely tired, "It's a poor plan, but it should work. Do not worry, as we have a little while left- it is difficult to navigate the labyrinth without angelic protection, even for a hooded figure."

 

They sat there for a few moments, as neither seemed to want to break the sudden quietness. Gradually, Josie felt a thought prickle at her mind, something that she had been wanting to say ever since this whole hated affair had begun. But, equally to her eagerness, she feared how Cecil would react to her words, however well meaning. Even so, she took a deep breath and spoke in her softest tone, 

 

"Cecil. She said it carefully, knowing precisely how Cecil was going to react to what she was going to suggest. Hearing her cautious tone, he looked at her warily, "You _do_ realise who you really need to speak to, don't you?"

 

Nonplussed, he shook his head, and she briefly closed her eyes before speaking, preparing for the inevitable tirade, "Look, if you just _spoke_ to Steve-"

 

" _No."_ and there it was; just as she had feared, there was an immediate and alarming shift from an inquisitive face to an absolutely furious one. In his sudden, consuming anger, Cecil had actually risen from the bench, as if by distancing himself from Josie then he could get way from what she had suggested. "Josie, no. I won't do that. Not about this."

 

Once again, Josie did not deign to move from her seat on the bench, but stared coolly up at him through her dark glasses. She knew how much Cecil despised Steve, goodness knew how much, but she had grown tired of their petty feud. He and Steve had some history together, and she knew how painful it was for him to revisit it; but Steve might prove to be a useful ally in this situation. It was perhaps a little cruel of her, but Josie needed Cecil to see sense; he needed to accept any and all help he could get. So, she folded her arms and stared at the seething man, her voice smooth, 

 

 

"Not even for Carlos?"

 

And, from his lofty position, she could see the battle raging in his mind; the raging war between his love for Carlos, battered and bruised and his absolute hatred for Steve Carlsberg, always seething beneath the surface. His mouth worked, the words burning like hot acid in his mouth, his voice dangerously low,

 

 

"Don't you _dare_ ," he was almost spitting with rage, his eyes shining with utter fury, "Don't you _dare_ make me pick between them, Josie." 

 

 

She wanted to shake him, to shout at him until he saw sense, but Josie had known cecil for the whole of his life, knew precisely how stubborn and unforgiving he could be when he chose to be. She had wanted to talk to him for a very long time about this particular hatred of his, but stupidly she had put it off, assuming that the feud would iron out over time. But, of course, it had not, and Cecil was still just as bitter as he had been all those years ago. But now, they were running out of time, and despite her desire to tell Cecil to swallow his pride and just _talk_ to Steve, there were more urgent maters at hand. She would not shrink rom his anger like a feeble old lady though, she had known him too long for that, and she held her head up high.

 

"Of _course not._ Well, on your own head be it." 

 

With a little effort, she swung her legs off of the bench and heaved her body from the wood; in a few breaths she was standing steadily on the ground, her engraved stick grasped securely in her hands. As she settled herself, another blast of pure, white light rent the sky, closer this time, and the angel stood beside them let out a low, keening note as it regarded the brilliant white line in the sky. Josie patted its black, cloak-clad arm gently and spoke with a swift urgency,

 

"You must take Cecil through the West exit; I do not think they will think to go there. If you are seen, do not make a sound but follow him back to his home, yes?"

 

The angel dipped its head smoothly, and Josie gave it a quick smile, looking satisfied. She turned to Cecil.

 

"What I have planned will be extraordinarily dangerous, and so must be undertaken with absolute delicacy.  I might not be able to manage it tomorrow," She held up a hand to ward off Cecil's retort as he opened his mouth, "Cecil, I _know,_ we don't have much time left, but we cannot be foolish in our haste. I promise you, we will find Carlos."

 

She said the last sentence with such sincere vehemence that in that moment, Cecil did not doubt that they would find the poor, stolen scientist. He wished he could share her steel, her utter certainty, but he was glad at least to have the burning love inside him which drove him on through his horror, through his desire to just run away from it all. They were going to find Carlos, they _were_ going to find him. With one last look at Josie, the angel strode onwards towards the exit designated by the old lady, and with only a brief pause to give one last wondrous stare around this peculiar, hidden environment, Cecil followed suit. He took a few hesitant steps, a question budding tentatively in his mind. Unable to brush it away, he turned behind him to call,

 

"Josie?"

 

"Yes?" 

The voice sounded weary beyond belief, but he would not stop.

 

"You…you _will_ be coming with me to get Carlos, won't you?"

 

There was a pause, and those dark, inscrutable lenses fixed upon him. Her face was blank, giving away nothing.

 

"You need to hurry up, Cecil. I think I can hear them approaching."

 

"Josie-" 

 

But, as if it had seen a silent signal from Josie, the angel grabbed his arm with utter urgency and steered him towards the exit. Initially, he tried to struggle, but stopped when he remembered that the angel was only trying to get him to safety. He allowed himself to be led away, the last image of the centre of the maze being a sturdy old lady stood defiantly beside the intricate marble fountain, her white hair dazzling as it shone in the rays of the sun. Her hand tightened its grip on her carved stick, and her voice rang loudly through the still air and toward the retreating Cecil's ears.

 

"Good luck, Cecil- we might not be able to meet again soon. Just remember the old proverb: The darkness may consume you, but there is no dark without light, thus you will be guided through its quivering stomach; reborn. Just an old proverb, but remember."

 

Of course, he wanted to ask her so desperately what she meant, but the glittering fountain was replaced by those sweet flowers, by throned hedged walls; the centre and its mysterious inhabitant was lost to him. The angel's grip was lighter now, in fact it seemed to be trying to be a little more delicate towards him, perhaps sensing that he was going to behave himself and follow Josie's frantic words. He heaved a mighty sigh, and together they advanced through the overgrown avenues, two fast moving shapes in a world of shadows.

 

 

***

 

 

_Tap, tap, tap._

 

Eyes firmly shut, Carlos twitched in his sleep as a sharp noise tugging at his conscious; it was a nagging sort of sound that prevented him from slipping back into that blissful and welcome numbness. Consciousness seemed to be attempting to drag him out of his fatigued mind, and he could not for the life of him work out who was tapping at his bedroom window with such persistence. Perhaps the occasional creature picked up by a sudden and vicious sandstorm might tap at his window on its tumbling journey past, but they weren't usually this persistent. With a mighty heave of effort, he wrenched open his eyes and jerked with surprise as the dirty, enclosed space of the radio booth came into focus instead of the expected sight of his comfortable bedroom. It only took him a moment, and then the horrible memories came rushing back with renewed vehemence as he was assaulted by the memories of what exactly had happened.

 

It was very strange, however. The dark memories were swirling inside his head, yet his mind felt dull, slow, the remembrances muted underneath an odd, numbing blankness. Carlos felt like he ought to be scared of this fact, and yet all that he could not summon any fear or immediate concern. Ever the scientist, even in this state, he cast his mind back as far as it would go and forced himself to remember the vile taste of pills as they were forced into his mouth; his throat felt unusually clogged, made even worse by the continued cloying heat of the room.

 

 His eyes were still adjusting to the sudden brightness, and as if somebody had spied his movement, the tapping increased in its ferocity, the smart raps loud in the previously silent space. He moved his gaze towards the glass wall, and, staring at him with an undeniably hungry expression was the strange, crooked toothed man; Kevin. Spotting that Carlos had finally responded to his vigorous tapping, Kevin ceased immediately, practically bouncing with excitement as he peered through the glass with that dark, unfathomable gaze. He brought the microphone to his face, and that sweet voice once again crackled directly into his ears.

 

 

" So you're _finally_ awake, you sleepyhead! Goodness me, you _do_ enjoy sleeping, don't you?"

 

Although his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool, that lilting voice cut through and settled in his ears, and despite himself Carlos latched onto it, as even this strange man was preferable to the horrible, prolonged loneliness of the booth. At the same time, Carlos felt rather like he should be infuriated by the slightly condescending tone, but his dull mind could offer no anger, no annoyance. He opened his mouth, still so parched, to respond, but his efforts of trying to speak felt so clumsy; he could only manage a sort of low groan, audible even through the glass. Kevin nodded as if he had received a proper answer, and when he spoke next his voice was practically vibrating in his excitement. 

 

 

"I've got a little present for you, my sweet!" The endearment paired with that almost flirtatious tone, should have made Carlos feel uncomfortable, concerned, but he could only stare slack jawed at Kevin, who wriggled an admonishing finger behind the glass.

 

"You _almost_ slept through it, silly, but don't worry! Good old Kevin's sorted it out, _just_ for you."

 

For a brief moment, he turned away from the glass window and was lost from Carlos's sight. The bound scientist was curious, despite himself, to see what it was that the man had gotten for him, as he wasn't entirely sure that it would be particularly beneficial to him considering he couldn't apparently come inside the booth. He heard a few shuffling noises through the microphone, and Kevin moved back into view, a small and old fashioned radio clutched in his arm. He placed it onto a ledge and fiddled absentmindedly with a dial, his eyes focused once more through the glass and towards the tied up Carlos.

 

 

 "Now, I've heard you mentioning this, this _Cecil,_ " He twisted the word in his mouth for a moment, a look of disgust plain on his face before he carefully removed it, "And I thought you might like to hear his voice." 

 

He paused, allowing the words to sink fully into Carlos's dulled mind, his hand still turning dials as his eyes bored into the scientist's, that deep obsidian deep and consuming. Even through his numbness, Carlos knew that he did not want to hear Cecil, but he could do no more than shake his head softly, the word 'No' unable to emerge from his mouth. Those quick, vacuous eyes caught all, and with a sudden shift the smile seemed to become fixed, false.

 

"I went to a lot of effort to do this." How a voice so sweet could transform into such danger, such quiet threat in just a few seconds, Carlos would never know, and he shrunk away as Kevin moved closer to the glass, his fixed smile showing even more teeth than usual. "I'm _still_ not allowed in you see, so I couldn't hook you up to the sound board. I had to search the whole station, find this old radio and clean it up, all on my break. So much effort, and I could just go back. Do you _want_ me to go back?"

 

The last question hung in the air with dangerous tension, and Carlos wanted to shrink far, far away from it. Part of him, buried deep inside and struggling so hard to emerge, wanted to fight back, but his head _hurt._ He was completely at the mercy of this man, and they both knew it. He could see it in the other man's false smile, his tense fingers; he knew that Carlos could not refuse. Begrudgingly, he spat the word out.

 

"No."

 

His voice sounded pathetic even to his own ears, a small and insignificant thing in comparison to those sweet and strong tones. Kevin closed his eyes for a brief moment, cocking his head to the side before he gave Carlos a careful, searching stare.

 

"No, what?"

 

The words were said with absolute relish, and Carlos had to try extremely hard not to grit his teeth. He had no choice, he needed this man to _explain,_ and he cleared his throat before forcing the words out.

 

"No, I don't want you to go back." 

 

The smile was fake no longer; Kevin's teeth shone in the light from the hallway, and Carlos had never felt so much like quivering prey caught in the paws of a vicious predator. Kevin let out a long breath.

 

"…Good. Very good." 

 

Finally, he turned his intense gaze away from Carlos and fiddled with the dials of the radio; through the headset Carlos could hear vague crackles of static as Kevin tried to find the right frequency. He couldn't help but twitch as he heard that unwelcome noise, such a stark reminder of his capturing, reminding him all too forcefully of Cecil's peculiarly glowing eyes. Although he was furious with Cecil, the thought of hearing his gorgeous voice again tugged at him, a desire to hear something sweet and pleasant in this horrible place. But the man turning the dials seemed a little _too_ happy, a little _too_ willing to give him this treat, and it made him wonder. Carlos suppressed a shudder, hardly daring to think what they might have done to Cecil in his absence.

 

After a little while of frowning in concentration, Kevin gave a satisfied sort of squeak and straightened up. He had obviously found the right station because Carlos could hear a faint, familiar voice, but he had not placed the microphone close enough to hear it clearly. He waited in anticipation to hear that familiar voice, but Kevin seemed to want to listen to it by himself for the moment. To Carlos's surprise, he let out a soft chuckle.

 

"My, how wonderfully cheery he has been without you!" He gave a sly sideways glance to the ashen faced Carlos, "You would have thought otherwise, all things considered." 

 

Carlos froze at his words, the words that sunk in like poison into his skin. Cecil was…happy? But, he had seemed so distraught, so broken. Had he forgotten him so soon, moved onto another obsession? Perhaps that was cruel, but Carlos's head hurt, he could barely summon up any anger, he was so _confused._ Kevin watched the turmoil of emotions on his face, and he moved the microphone so that it was closer to the radio speaker. It was still fairly quiet, so Carlos could not make out more than the low rumble of Cecil's voice, but Kevin placed his hand on the volume dial, slowly turning it up as he watched Carlos's expression carefully. As Cecil's voice filled his ears, he was immediately powerless to its sonorous spell. 

 

It was such a cruel parody of his normal life. Carlos never told Cecil, but sometimes he would sit in a quiet room and listen to the show, closing his eyes and allowing that beautiful voice to wash over him completely. Never had he wanted to turn it off, and often when the show ended he would sit in silence, the memories of the voice a comfortable blanket in the dark, silent room. But now, he was frozen in horror, wishing nothing more than to shake the hated headset off of his head.

 

But, and this was what distressed him most, Cecil did not sound frightened. No, he did not sound scared, he did not sound worried, he did not even sound concerned. He sounded _normal,_ and this fact crashed through his numb mind like nothing else had. Carlos listened wide eyed and clench-jawed throughout Cecil's recounting of the day's news, the voice almost sounding cheerful. It was indecent, it was unbearable, it was…Cecil. It was just Cecil, and Carlos had to ask himself what he had really expected. If he had been listening more closely, if his thoughts weren't quite so numb, he may have noticed that at times Cecil's voice was too flat, too neutral for his normally bombastic approach to his show. But he was so _tired,_ and these little inconsistencies passed him by unnoticed. 

 

And so, he listened, unable to tear himself away, and hating the fact that part of him still wanted to listen, to cling onto that one familiar part of his life. He didn't know what to think anymore- he was feeling so hurt, so betrayed, and yet he still wanted Cecil. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the words, focusing on the voice only, filled with the vain hope that if he did this then he could pretend that it was just a normal show, just a normal day. But, as he shut his eyes and frowned, the word 'scientist' seemed to stab at him through the radio and his eyes flew open in shock.

 

He listened blankly as Cecil spoke on the outlawing of science with such a straightforward voice, unable to detect the slight wobble that one could hear if they listened close enough. It was not the information that frightened him, hell, he had expected that something like this might happen,  it was Cecil's apparent resignation of this fact that made him want to curl up on the chair. There was no fight in his voice, no sign that he was looking or fighting for his apparent boyfriend and his breath hitched as he fought the useless tears, angry with himself for getting so worked up. Kevin was watching his face like a hawk, and his voice was almost cooing.

 

"Oh _dear."_ He rested a hand on the glass separating them. "It's rather cruel of him, don't you think?" 

 

Numbly, barely even able to look at him, Carlos nodded, and Kevin seemed pleased that he had responded to him this time. He gave a somewhat theatrical sigh, his fingers curling up on the glass.

 

" _I_ would let you out of here if I could, you do know that, right?"

 

Carlos stared at him blankly, unable to quite process what he had said. The man's actions had been so _changeable_ \- he spoke with such softness, almost tenderness, and yet his actions mostly leant towards cruelty rather than kindness. Making him listen to Cecil was cruel of him and yet…perhaps he really did think he was giving Carlos something he wanted. He was so confused, and Kevin's twisted smile was not helping the matter. He did not answer, and, leaning closer towards the microphone, the man sighed.

 

"You should know that." He draw back from the glass slightly, casting his res towards the corridor," Anyway, I've got to go now. My radio sh-"

 

"No."

 

Kevin's eyes widened as Carlos spoke, his croaky voice nonetheless carrying through the room. Even Carlos was surprised at himself, but he stared steadily from his chair, unwilling to take the words back. Kevin licked his lips slowly, searching the defiant face in the dark room.

 

"No?"

 

"Please…don't leave."

 

Carlos did not know precisely why he said it; he just knew that if he was alone in the booth with only his thoughts for company then he would go completely and utterly mad. Any company, even this strange, unexplainable man was preferable to this lonely, dark room with his tumultuous and pained mind. The cold, professional way Cecil had appeared on the radio stabbed at him, and he did not want to be left with only that thought to assault him for hourson end. 

 

 The man stared back through the glass, at that almost invisible barrier which separated them, his hungry eyes raking over the trussed up man with an undeniable desire. 

 

"Well." He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the sides. " _Well."_

 

The radio show had ended now; Cecil's smooth voice had completely faded from existence and all Carlos could hear was Kevin's sweet tones, filling his ears. If he squinted, if he forced his mind to lie to him, he could almost pretend that it was Cecil stood on the other side of the glass. He knew it was stupid, that it did not help at all, but he needed something, _anything_ to hold on to. Kevin was biting his lip, his eyes flickering to the corridor behind him,

 

"I really do have to go. My show is starting in a few minutes," His voice was full of sudden regret, sadness, "I'll be back later though, okay?" 

 

Weakly, Carlos nodded, wondering just what precisely he had gotten himself into. The man seemed so ecstatic and so pleased with what he had said that he wondered whether he had been too forward with his suggestion. He was furious with himself- this man was not Cecil, and no amount of pretending would change that. But, perhaps, when the man returned he would feel stronger, and he would be able to question him about what exactly was going on. Maybe…maybe he could even convince him to help. The man was unreadable, had even said he would not come into the room though he clearly desired it, but Carlos had sensed the tiniest part of kindness inside of him. He wondered if he had the strength and wit to manipulate the kindness into help. 

 

Slowly, the man placed the microphone on the hidden ledge and gathered the old fashioned radio in his arms, his eyes still steadily fixed on the man trussed up in the chair. His smile was no longer false, but equally it still could not said to be pleasant. He turned his body away, but before he made a single move, he threw a glance over his shoulder and spoke. Carlos could not hear the words through the glass, he could only see the mouth moving, speaking the words:

 

_Don't worry, I'll be back._

 

And with that, he was left in the room to ruminate by himself, not quite able to make up his mind as to whether he regretted his actions or not.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY.
> 
> No, really, I am. I thought I would be able to write over christmas, and I just couldn't. And coming back to uni has been so stressful, but I finally managed to write this chapter at least. I'm so sorry it's moving so slowly- I am SO looking forward to writing the next chapter though. I've been finding it a little hard to write as of late, but if anyone's still reading this, please enjoy.
> 
> Thank you for the views, kudos and comments. You must understand that they fill me with so much happiness. You are all great!
> 
> I'm also sorry that this story might as well be an AU. The canon moves quite quickly. Ah well. Have fun!
> 
> EDIT: OOPS! I am so sorry if anyone got an alert of anything- I accidentally double posted this chapter so it was captor 9 too. Sorry T_T

 

At first, Cecil tried his utmost to play it safe. Caution, he felt, was the most practical way to go about this dreadful business and after all, hadn't Josie warned him to be on his guard? So, even though he despised himself for his loathsome, new-found obedience, he understood fully the importance of maintaining the charade. With a determined sort of vigilance concealed beneath a blank meekness, he waited diligently for any sign from Josie regarding their next move. 

 

And yet, despite her assertions that time was of the essence, he heard not a peep from her, not a single call or even sighting of her the day after their first meeting. Briefly, fear coiled in his stomach as he turned over and over in his mind all of the horrible fates that could have befallen her in that hidden labyrinth, but he was equally just as confident of her abilities; Josie was a hardy old thing, and to underestimate her was foolish behaviour. And also, he tried in vain to reason with himself, she _had_ told him to expect that whatever it was that she was planning would take a little while to come to fruition. People might think that Cecil, excitable and often prone to outbursts of emotions, would be an impatient man, but he held within him a surprising ability to wait situations out. After all, he thought wryly, his relationship with Carlos was a testament to that. But, the thought of Carlos was like a weight pressing into his chest, a physical ache, and in order to stop himself from dwelling too much on that cursed subject he busied himself with his regular duties. 

 

Never had he despised his job so completely, never had he hated the thought of going into work. Each moment was underlined with a slight panic that he would get it wrong, that he would give himself away, and the loneliness was beginning to eat away at him, just as it used to do back in his old days of broadcasting. For no one would speak to him, in fact, barely anyone would even _look_ at him any more. Any intern which entered the radio booth did so with such a nervous shuffle and obvious air of discomfort that Cecil eventually gave up on trying to initiate conversation; even the politest of his remarks resulted in a meagre squeak and darting of eyes towards the door in search of escape. It was most wearing.

 

 

So, the day after their fateful meeting in the Dog Park, Cecil spent the entire day on edge, constantly looking up from his papers in the desperate hope that there was some message, some hidden signal that he might miss if he was not observant enough. Almost constantly, his hands twitched with a nervous flurry next to the phone that was concealed in his trouser pocket, but this trepidation was unnecessary because the device remained silent and still, no matter how much he willed it to buzz with a message or a call. Deep in his heart he knew that it would be much too suspicious for Josie to call him, especially at work, but the lack of communication from anybody at all seemed ominous. But, of course, he had to force his concern under the hated false cheeriness, and if he had been in the mood he would have been proud at himself for how he almost sounded cheery as he sounded off the programme for the night. Rubbing his eyes wearily, the phone still infuriatingly silent in his pocket, he left the darkened studio. So tired was he, that he didn't even react to the hooded figure which dogged his footsteps home. 

 

 

The next day, Cecil resolved to be more proactive. He reasoned that surely being stuck in his booth meant that any message from Josie would have to be from the newsfeed he received informing him of the day's topics, and although he did have quite a lot of faith in Josie, he was not entirely certain if even she could orchestrate a method that enabled him to receive a message under the very nose of their oppressors. And so, he took a few short breaks throughout the day, making a great show of rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms in the hope that it would convince any unwanted onlookers that he was simply seeking out a little bit of exercise rather than confining himself to the booth all day. 

 

At lunchtime he actually left the confines of the building but dared not move any further than the small space in front of the main entrance, in fear that whoever was watching him would suspect that he had a lees-than-innocent motive. The two on security did not say a single word to him, but instead of feeling hurt he could only accept their silence with gritted teeth. They both worse glasses, which was a new change, and he had a suspicious feeling that behind those glasses their eyes buzzed with that mysterious static, and the thought made him angry, although there was nothing he could do about it. He could only assume however, and he did not allow his gaze to linger on them for too long, just in case. 

 

One hand loosening the top button of his brightly patterned shirt against the beating rays of the sun, Cecil leaned against the door of the radio station, his eyes flickering left and right in search of something, _anything_ other than the painfully normal day. After about twenty minutes of only the shimmering street staring back at him, Cecil had to concede defeat and return to his studio, and he did so with ill grace, stomping down the corridors and trying his very best not to fume.

 

Where _was_ Josie? They could not afford to dally- the threat of re-education loomed closer and closer, and Cecil knew that no matter how well he played to the rules, there was probably no way he could escape that dreaded punishment without Josie's help. He attempted vaguely to press down his amounting anger, but it was so very difficult; he was sick of waiting. He _wanted_ Carlos. What must the scientist think of him? He _must_ have come to the conclusion that Cecil had abandoned him, knowing his logical mind, and Cecil could not actually blame him for this. He had already waited too long to retrieve him, and he knew that every second was like sand slipping through his fingers, the window of opportunity to save Carlos was becoming narrower and narrower. He wanted to burst through the station, to locate Station Management and _demand_ the location of Carlos's whereabouts, but he infuriatingly knew that sneakiness and planning was paramount to his success. 

 

But, when he arrived home on the evening of the second day, Cecil knew without a doubt that if he did not at least try and do something soon then he was going to be driven insane. As he trudged back home, his footsteps heavy with dejection, he flinched at every movement in the minuscule chance that it would be Josie. He jumped as birds flew overhead, at a car honking angrily as someone overtook them, at children who hurried past who cast nervous looks over their shoulders at his searching glance. He ground his teeth with annoyance every time this happened, and as soon as his front door clanged behind him, he decided that if he did not hear anything by tomorrow, he was going to assume that Josie had been apprehended, as she had hinted she might be. Equally, he remembered her warnings that he should not be hasty, but Cecil was going to get Carlos, and no force on earth was going to stop him if he chose to go after him tomorrow.

 

And so, he spent most of the night in his admittedly comfortable but all too empty bed, unable to sleep as half-baked schemes and plans ran through his head in a confusing flurry. The best force of action he could come up with was that the would wait until the afternoon for Josie's message, and if none was forthcoming then he would make his escape. To where, he knew not, but he was hoping that in the radio booth inspiration would strike. Perhaps he would go and find Josie, wherever she was, as separation was clearly doing neither of them any good. Briefly, her pleas regarding Steve Carlsberg shimmered in his memory, but he pushed the unwanted thoughts away in extreme irritation. Despite Josie's assertions, he was not quite _that_ desperate yet. Close, but not quite.

 

In a futile attempt at sleeping, Cecil curled up into a little ball, his foot accidentally touching the other side of the bed as he drew his legs up to his body. It felt cold to the touch, and he gulped as he remembered how Carlos used to lie there, gasping with laughter as Cecil's cold feet touched his warm leg. _How can someone who lives in the desert be so cold?_ He would gasp, and Cecil would then insist on brushing his frigid feet all the way up Carlos's legs, ignoring his breathless laughter as he placed his cold hands underneath his shirt to rest upon the other man's warm back. All of this flashed through Cecil's mind, and it took all of his strength to not leave the bed that instant, shouting Carlos's name as he pounded through the streets of Night Vale. He could only allow himself to force his eyes shut, waiting for sleep to dull his restless thoughts. 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Carlos was not precisely aware of when or why it had happened, but he was soon spending the long, painful hours strapped to the chair awaiting visits from the strange man, Kevin, his back aching from the strain of trying to listen out for that elusive man. A long while ago, it did not matter that his mind was still beleaguered by the pills he had been forced to swallow, he had given up on Cecil trying to find him, and the betrayal was only a muted ache in his stomach rather than the roiling anger it had been previously. His weary mind had reasoned that Cecil might have abandoned him, but this man had not. Perhaps if he had been restored to his normal, logical mind, it would have occurred to him that although it was true that Kevin kept him sane with little visits and chats, he certainly wasn't helping him, and possibly was never going to. The bonds still cut deeply into his skin, water was still humiliatingly fed to him by a masked intern, but in order to bear all of these horrors, Carlos had to cling onto something. He had chosen to cling onto Kevin.

 

What made it infinitely worse was that it was plain to see that Kevin _knew_ how much Carlos needed him. It was obvious in the satisfied flicker in his eyes, in the way his lips curled when Carlos's gaze raked the glass wall with an eagerness that was akin to hunger. He was rather theatrical in the way he hovered in the doorway which streamed with light from the corridor leading out of the building, expressing a melancholy desire to miss his show and stay with Carlos, and this unexpected similarity to Cecil caused Carlos to grit his teeth in barely concealed anger. He did not dare to say anything that might upset this man, however, because Kevin was so utterly changeable, and any wrong move could somehow make a happy grin shift to annoyance, somehow make a waving hand curl up into clawed fists. If Carlos was unresponsive then Kevin would leave in an upset huff, and so he had to force himself to talk, even though it made his throat itch with dryness.

 

And so, the day after Kevin had made him listen to Cecil's hurtful broadcast, Carlos was woken up by that soft voice crooning in his ears. Vaguely, he remembered at some point in the night a masked intern had shuffled into the room, clearly intending to be quiet and efficient, although their efforts were rather poor. Although he was despondent and weak, Carlos absolutely refused to be the docile little hostage they wanted him to be, and he thrashed to and fro as more pills were forced into his throat. Of course, he could not overcome the unusually iron grip of the intern, and soon they had exited the way they came with a disgruntled sort of air, leaving Carlos gasping for breath behind them, and with his head spinning into an uncomfortable darkness. 

 

But now he had been awoken by what could only be described a gently purring voice, his headset whirring into life,

 

"Oh, good morning, honey!" Carlos tried not to twitch with disgust at the endearment; the man was sometimes far too familiar with him, "Tell me, did you have a pleasant little sleep, hmm?"

 

Not answering would definitely upset the man, and although Carlos wanted nothing more than to groan and face the window, he managed to grunt,

 

"Yes. The best."

 

Carlos had discovered that if he was sarcastic, then it was infinitely easier to deal with Kevin. Luckily for him, the grinning man generally seemed unable to understand his sarcasm, or if he did he always brushed it off as flirtation, cocking an amused eyebrow at him. As it stood, he looked positively gleeful at his rough response.

 

"Wonderful, wonderful."  Something about his tone, somehow even brighter than usual, caught Carlos's attention, and rather than staring dolefully away from him, he brought his gaze fully upon Kevin's face. He looked extremely excited, as if he was bursting to tell a secret but knew he must not, "I was worried I wouldn't be able to see you before I went to my show, but there you are! Awake."

 

He grinned, and, weakly, Carlos attempted a pathetic semblance of a smile back to him, as if he had any choice in the matter. He waited for a few moments, as Kevin usually spilled information in a bright, confusing babble, hardly caring if Carlos listened or whether his head lolled to the side. But, today, the strange man seemed to be unusually cagey, dragging his eyes across Carlos's body with a fervent movement, walking away from the window with a clear reluctance. This was odd in itself; he usually stayed for longer, talked to him for longer. Knowing that once Kevin left then he faced hours alone in the stifling heat, Carlos called with a croak,

 

"Wait!"

 

Thankfully, he stopped. When he turned back to the scientist, the deep, black eyes were crinkled around the corners,

 

"Why, Carlos, I didn't know you cared!"

 

Choosing to ignore this comment, Carlos licked his dry lips before answering, "Is something…has something happened?"

 

For a few moments, Kevin remained rooted on the spot, his scrupulously polished shoes making a small _clack_ on the floor as he paused. He took a breath, seemingly on the verge of speaking, and through the glass wall, Carlos caught a glimpse of what could only be his collar flashing. The slightest convulsion rocked his body, and his smile stretched across his face as he sang, 

 

“Maaaaybe!" 

 

Before Carlos could even manage to croak, that bright, unnatural grin flashed once more, and then disappeared as Kevin flounced out of the room without another glance back. With a groan that no one could hear except for himself, he leant as far back on the chair and he could and closed his eyes, angry at his foolish disappointment that Kevin had left. Resigning himself to long, unbearable hours alone, he could only seethe silently to himself.

 

Where had his fight gone? He wanted to feel passion, he wanted to fight, to rip himself from the bonds and crash his way through the radio station, _anything_ other than this acceptance which ached through his body. He was too tired of it all; he was too tired of Night Vale. He wished…Carlos gulped, the traitorous thought taking a venomous grip on his mind. He wished he had never come to Night Vale.

 

 

The rays of the sun dripped heavily through the windows, and Carlos tried his best to shut his eyes against it, to urge his mind to rest; that's all he wanted, and it felt so unjust that it was being denied him. He had never been anywhere so quiet before- the headset possibly accounted for most of this, but it was rather eerie to not even be able to hear his own breathing. Even so, he attempted to force calm into his body, focusing on each breath as they huffed out of his mouth. He counted each chest rise, desperately summoning scientific facts into his mind which usually served to calm him down when he had been anxious in the past. _The symbol for Osmium is 'Os',_ he thought furiously, clinging onto the fact like a lifeline, the only thing in the world that made sense, _its atomic number is 76 and it was first isolated…_

 

Slowly, with the soft buffer of science to focus on, his breathing became a little easier. His head still felt painful and affected by the pills, but these tiny facts, which meant almost nothing in Night Vale gave him a small island of calm to focus on. Underneath it all, he had a small but persistent memory of how _excited_ Cecil had been whenever he had explained anything vaguely scientific to him. He waited for the anger to arrive, but he surprised himself by almost smiling as he remembered that wondrous face, genuinely fascinated by this information that flowed so easily from Carlos's lips. For the first time in a while, and despite his tightly bound limbs, Carlos fell into a light sleep with the ghost of a smile on his face.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Silent as the night, walking with smooth steps that made almost no impression on the rough pavement, the figure made their way swiftly down the darkened streets. They walked with the unmistakeable urgency of someone who knew that at any point they might be followed, and the struggle between necessity and quietness was palpable even as they attempted to conceal it. Their progress was rapid, but not nearly rapid enough, but they still toiled carefully under the watching moonlight.

 

As they turned a corner, the figure seemed to give up on wholly silent progress, and their breath came out in short, little bursts as they hurried onwards down the street, their feet leaving a small imprint on the ground which now had a fine layer of dust laying on it; away from the centre of the town it felt slightly less watchful, but one never knew who or what could be lurking in these dark corners. Halfway down the road they came to an abrupt stop, leaning their hand on a dilapidated wooden gate in an attempt to catch their breath. Slowly, carefully, they scanned the streets surrounding them, then clicked open the gate with sure fingers, stepping into the overgrown garden with a steady trot. A few feet away from the door, Old Woman Josie shook off her shawl so that she could fully regard the building in front of her, the one which shimmered so mysteriously in the lights from the brightly twinkling stars.

 

 

The House That Does Not Exist. To those who had never seen it before, this name was perplexing, impossible even, but as Josie was stood there it struck her just how apt the name was. It was extraordinarily peculiar, as the more she concentrated, the more vivid the walls became, swimming into focus and looming before her. However, if she let her concentration slip even a little, the house would fade, and she would be so _certain_ of nothingness, that the space in front of here was merely empty and uninhabited. But, although this sight might have instilled fear in the casual viewer, its enigmatic presence brought a smile upon Josie’s face. Through great difficulty, she had made it here.

 

Oh, making it through the labyrinthine maze of hedges had been child’s play in comparison to the intricate game that awaited in Night Vale. Josie knew she had promised Cecil she would act fast, hell, she knew that time was slipping through their fingers, but she simply had not been able to act on her plans all day, and it was infuriating. Although the hooded figures and other unpleasant beings thrived during the night time, Josie knew that she only had this small window of opportunity to reach her destination before she was missed. Regrettably, she had to leave her angels behind; although extremely helpful, their presence would arouse too much suspicion if they tried to walk the darkened streets with her. And so, she had walked alone, each step dogged with the sinking feeling of regret that a lack of angelic protection always caused. But she had made it this far, and she would not be deterred from her course. 

 

With sure steps she approached the elaborate door knocker, forcing her mind to concentrate so that the house was solid enough for her to stand on the step leading up to the door. The secrets of this house, were known by nobody, well as far as she knew anyway, least of all Carlos’s team of scientists. She understood why they would be keen to investigate such a fascinating place, but the house simply reeked of the unknown; it clearly did not want to reveal its secrets.

 

But Josie was _not_ a casual viewer. Over the years she had heard whispers about this place, fuelled by Cecil’s own ponderings on his radio show, and for her it had become more than just the place of novelty it was for the other citizens. The place was so secret, but Josie was certain that it contained what she desired. It _had_ to.

 

Taking a large step, she faced the brass knocker which was in the shape of a madly grinning face, not unlike a gargoyle. The three, brass eyes seemed to bore into her, and she stared back, rooting in one pocket without looking because she knew that if she looked away from this gaze for a second then the house would once more blink into non-existence. Her hand clasped a smooth, cold shape, and slowly, delicately, she brought out the Blood Stone. It glinted in the moonlight, seemingly hungry for the rays that fell so softly upon it. Gripping it carefully in her palm, she deftly tore a plaster off her arm; she had cut herself when escaping the advancing hooded figures in the maze, and although irritating, the ragged wound now helped to serve a purpose. Quickly, she anointed the stone with a drop of blood, and with a deep breath Josie inserted it into the door knocker’s gaping mouth. Immediately, it snapped shut over the offering. 

 

A wave of weariness assaulted Josie as she stared at the closed mouth; she had expected it, but it still felt strange to have her energy zapped by such a simple action. Bloodstones were a vital and important part of life in Night Vale, and to give one up was akin to giving a piece of oneself away. Josie had known that this sacrifice was a necessary one, but still she felt the loss of the bloodstone. Gritting her teeth, she waited for a response.

 

 

At first, the door knocker remained motionless, a mere piece of metal adorning the otherwise unremarkable door. After a moment of her fervent watching, a shudder seemed to run through the metal and the blank, brass eyes shone a startling red. The mouth opened, revealing no stone within, and a deep, low rumble emerged, reverberating in the gloom.

 

“Destination?”

 

A feeling of elation swept through Josie; the first stage of her plan had been successful. Now, if only the second part was equally as successful…praying wildly to herself, she spoke firmly.

 

“No; _Dana_.”

 

There was a moment of silence as the metal face seemed to consider her words. Josie wondered if it would simply refuse her, but it spoke again.

 

“Destination; living room.”

 

“No,” Josie was annoyed that it had ignored her question, “Take me to Dana. Not inside the house.”

 

“Destination; living room.”

 

Feeling properly angry now, Josie opened her mouth to argue further. But, as she prepared to do so, she realised what exactly the door knocker was telling her. Dana must be _here_ , she must be in the house again, just as Cecil had once said she had been. Internally chastising herself, she nodded at the door.

 

“Thank you.”

 

The brass face made no further remark, and soon enough she heard a few mechanical clicks and the door swung open, admitting her into a dark and musty corridor. She was surprised to see that the walls were definitely more solid inside than out, and she hoped furiously that the house wouldn’t suddenly turn on her and blink out of existence, as it was wont to do. Josie had faith that she would be able to leave, however, and she strode with confidence through the dim hallways.

 

As she made her way down the musty space, a door at the very end gave an ominous rattle, and Josie knew without knowing precisely why that this was her destination. Of course, the rest of the doors in the corridor intrigued her as they were ancient looking things, closed determinedly against her wandering eyes, but she knew that in Night Vale, one should never mess with what wanted to be unseen. This house did not count; although it was apt to disappear, the house was made to become real for those who seeked it. With a grim determination, Josie placed her hand onto the tarnished silver door handle and slowly turned it, bracing herself for she knew not quite what. 

 

 

 

Within the room, dusty curtains shut and lit by one solitary lamp, was an odd assortment of furniture, old and new, scrupulously clean and dirty with age. As Josie made her way in, her eyes caught a grand, sumptuously cushioned armchair and knew immediately and with a strange feeling of certainty that it was for her. Across from it sat another armchair, but this one was low slung and garishly patterned, clearly meant for slouching and Josie smiled; that was clearly Dana’s chair. After stroking the plush, violet armrest on her own designated chair, Josie lowered herself carefully upon it, sighing in comfort as she waited for Dana to materialise, as she knew she would do.

 

After a few moments of comfortable silence, the musty air of the room seemed to shimmer, disturbed by some invisible force. Josie knew she could only sit back and wait and so she did so, watching in complete fascination as the dark outline of a woman began to coagulate from spinning particles caught on the very air itself. Soon they had formed into the familiar and welcoming figure of Dana, and she seemed to hover uncertainly in the air before plopping into the chair below her. With a gasp, she scrabbled to sit upright and positively gaped at Josie, who stared across from her with a benevolent grin,

 

“Josie! I was just in the…but...what, how-?”

 

“Dana, we do not have much time,” Josie spoke urgently cutting off Dana’s confused babble, “I am _so_ immensely glad to see you, but if my calculations are correct we must not dally.”

 

Dana stared at her face, so serious, hardly daring to believe that jodie of all people was really here. She had been away from people for so long, it felt unreal to finally be talking to someone, for someone to actually _see_ her. Apart from that terrifying man, of course. She shuddered briefly as she thought about him, but she did not want to think of that ghastly figure any more than necessary.

 

“Right, okay. But how am I here? I haven’t been able to settle in one place for a little while.”

 

“You are here because I requested it. I took…certain measures to ensure that this would happen.” 

 

“Oh, Josie,” She began, seeing the strain on the old lady’s face. But , seemingly untouched by her concern, Josie help up a hand to quell her worries,

 

“It is of no consequence. I did what I needed to do.” She cleared her throat, “Anyway, I haven’t summoned you to talk about that. Dana, I require your help.”

 

For a few seconds, Dana was floored by the remark. Her help? But, what could she do? Sure, for the past few minutes her body had felt more pleasantly solid than it had done for a long while, but when she left this house she would once more be as insubstantial as the wind, a mere spectre who walked between the planes of existence. She was powerless to stop anybody from doing what they wanted; once again she remembered the sinister, smiling man, and she repressed another shudder. But, the renewed memory of him made the image of Carlos flash in her mind, and, ignoring all other issues, she spoke with a great urgency,

 

“Josie, you might need my help, but I know someone who needs it more.” At Josie’s perplexed expression, she continued, her voice twisted, “ _Carlos._ I _saw_ him. He was, he was tied up…”

 

Breathless with worry, she stopped, peering at Josie’s peculiar expression. She had expected her to be horrified, but instead the old lady merely looked weary, as if Dana had confirmed something she had long expected.

 

“My dear Dana, that is why I require your help. I need you to guide Cecil to wherever Carlos is.”

 

 

After this statement, there was only silence. Dana stared at the stoic old lady, her face simply etched with incredulousness. There was no possible way she, insubstantial and inconsequential, would ever be able to help Cecil, and it pained her that Josie was putting so much faith into such a futile endeavour. After twisting her hands nervously in her lap, marvelling at how she could _almost_ feel them, she spoke in a quiet voice,

 

“I can’t help, Josie. I’ve tried.”

 

“Nonsense,” Josie leaned closer towards her, cocking an eyebrow in disbelief, “ I understand your predicament, perhaps far more than you yourself do, but what I require you to do is relatively simple, in the scheme of things. You need only to guide Cecil; he must take over from there.”

 

“But, Josie, I keep disappearing!” She could help but let desperation leak into her voice, inflecting every word with worry, “I can’t stay in one place long enough to guide anyone, and the last time I did I-“

 

“Do not worry about that. Now that you have a purpose, and a temporary protection from this house, I think you shall be able to remain substantial for a little while. Now, I need to know- _will_ you help?”

 

Nervously, Dana looked at her hands, unable to meet with such an intense gaze. She did not know how to articulate it, but she was _frightened_ of going back to that damnable place, frightened that she would see Carlos and….it would be too late. But, equally, she knew the answer she must pick. Briefly, she closed her eyes, wondering if she had sealed her own doom.

 

“Yes. I will.”

 

“Good. “ Looking rather relieved at her acceptance, Josie sat straight backedd on the chair, her expression deeply serious, “You said you saw Carlos. Am I right in thinking he is in Desert Bluffs?”

 

Startled at Josie’s accurate guess, Dana nodded, “Yes. He is tied up in one of the booths in the radio station. I saw him- he looked…he looked…” She struggled for a few seconds, “He looked _exhausted.”_

 

_“_ I’ll bet he did.” stated Josie dryly, “I suspected correctly then, and so we must act quickly. Cecil, of course is determined to go, but I have told him I will be giving him a signal, so he won’t act until I tell him so.”

 

“Okay, so where do I come in?”

 

“When I have given Cecil the signal and he has aligned himself with the portal which will take him there, you _must_ already be in the dimensional planes to guide him. He will not be able to make it to this house, of that I am certain. Therefore, you _must_ concentrate, and guide him through the void and towards Desert Bluffs.”

 

Although complicated, and with many things that could possibly go wrong, Dana understood the plan. Of only one thing she was uncertain, and she could not help but voice her fears.

 

“I will do it. But, Josie, how will you send the message? Surely they are watching the phones, and you can’t just call up the radio station and announce for him to leave!”

 

At first Josie’s only reply was a sad sort of smile, one that made her look older, more like the old woman she was supposed to be like. When she spoke, her voice was wry, 

 

“You are right. I cannot send a message to the station, but the station can still broadcast my message for me.”

 

“I, I don’t-“

 

“If I allow myself to be captured, Cecil will have to broadcast it to the town, and he will understand that this is my signal.”

 

“No!”

 

Her voice rebounding around the room, Dana stood up from her chair, her expression filled with her tempestuous feelings. She could not believe it, she _would_ not believe it. 

 

“No, Josie, you’re needed _here.”_

 

But Josie simply looked up calmly from her seat, her hands in her lap as she regarded the angry figure in front of her.

 

“I shall be fine. They will be capturing me on my terms, and although regrettable, that will make all the difference. I will buy Cecil time, and he has precious little of that left.”

 

Dana wanted argue more, to complain until she was hoarse, but she knew Josie’s unmovable expression well. Disgruntled and still a little upset, she lowered herself back onto her seat.

 

“Fine. I know I can’t persuade you, so I won’t even bother.”

 

“That would be wise.”

 

“When are we planning to do this, then?”

 

“I will try my utmost to get it done for tomorrow, but I cannot promise. I _did_ promise Cecil that I would, but there are a few problems that I have encountered thus far that are hindering my process. I am sorry to confine you to this house for the moment, but I need you in a safe place while we wait.”

 

Shaking her head dismissively, Dana waved her apology away.

 

“It’s fine. it’s been such a long time since I’ve been able to stay in one single place, and I can’t say that I’m not enjoying it.”

 

“That’s good to know. Anyway, I fear I must leave you now. If I stay for too long then I will surely be missed, and we cannot afford for me to be captured just yet. There is a radio in this house somewhere, I know it. Listen out for my signal, and be prepared to guide Cecil.”

 

 

“I’ll do my best. Goodbye, Josie.”

 

The old lady heaved herself up from the chair, almost regretting that she had to leave such a comfy spot. But, duty called, and she gave one last look at the almost-solid Dana, her lips curling in a sad smile as she realised they probably wouldn’t see each other for a long time; she liked Dana, she had always been a most interesting intern.

 

“Goodbye, Dana. And more importantly, good luck.”

 

With a slight air of reluctance, she turned towards the door, but, as she placed her hand firmly on the handle, Dana realised that she had not spoken of her true fear to Josie; she had not warned her of what was to come.

 

“Wait, Josie, wait!”

 

She had not had chance to open the door, and, beginning to be filled with a slight trepidation as that desperate cry rang through the room, Josie turned to look at the stricken Dana.

 

“Yes?”

 

“ I-I forgot to mention- there is a man that Cecil needs to look out for.”

 

“A man?” She asked, confused at the relevance of this.

 

“Yes, there is a man- he has a smile, a horrible, horrible smile, like his face will split open from it. Josie- he looks like _Cecil._ ”

 

Immediately, as the word sunk in, Josie went rigid. When she spoke, her voice was cold, calculating.

 

 

“ Describe him to me. ” Dana flinched at the harshness of the words, “As quickly as you can.”

 

“Well, he _looked_ like Cecil. But he was _not_ Cecil. They had the same hair, the same nose, but…but not the same eyes.” She gave a shudder filled with revulsion, “His eyes were as black as the void.”

 

Josie’s face was unreadable, but Dana could tell that the words had for some reason hit her hard. She seemed to be staring into the distance, her mouth open as she heaved a long sigh.

 

“Oh.”

 

That was all she said, and the simple horror of that one word made Dana’s stomach drop. A renewed fear of the smiling man filled her body, and she asked,

 

“Who _is_ he?”

 

“Danger.” 

 

Shaking herself, Josie seemed to be imbued with a renewed vigour. The news had clearly startled her, but Dana knew she would not elaborate further, “This changes things. But still, Cecil _must_ go. There is no options, but I wonder…” She seemed to be talking to herself, and although Dana was fearful of an outburst, she could not help but tentatively ask,

 

“Josie?”

 

The old lady jumped as if she had received an unpleasant shock. Eyes wild beneath her dark glasses, she threw Dana a star led glance,

 

‘I am so sorry, Dana, but I must leave immediately. I need you to promise me that you will do anything in your power to keep both Carlos and Cecil away from that man, do you understand?”

 

‘I…I, yes, I do. But-“

 

“I am so sorry, Dana. But I’ve got to-“

 

And with that, she practically leapt through the doorway, leaving Dana stood in the middle of the room, alone and deeply disturbed. Weakly, she lowered herself back onto the comfortable couch, only able to hope that whatever fear plagued Josie would not affect their coming plans. 

 

 

***


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I hope you're all doing great!
> 
> I really do hope you're still enjoying the story- I'm sorry it's so plot-y. I love plot, but I hope you feel that there is a lot more going on in this chapter! I'm sorry if the different story point of views is confusing, but they're getting closer and closer together. I am also so sorry for being so dark- who knew?!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading; I appreciate it a hell of a lot!
> 
> Also, please forgive any mistakes- I barely have any time to edit anymore. One day, perhaps.

 

 

 

 

On the third day after emerging from the maze, Cecil trudged to work with footsteps laden with tension, each step reminding him of his promise that he may have to disregard Josie’s words and take matters into his own hands. Today, the air was slightly cooler than it had been recently, and yet the balmy air did nothing to soothe his sweating palms, his nervous gait. Today, one way or another, he was going to find Carlos. The desperate thought spurred him on, and soon enough, he found himself at the guarded doors of the radio station, barely registering the hooded figure which padded softly behind him, watching his every move. It wasn’t long until he was seated back in his once-comfortable chair, arranging the various papers in front of him. 

 

It began as a rather slow news day; deceptively slow, perhaps. Apparently not much had been going on at all, except for a few scouts that had gone missing in the Sand Wastes, the Glow Cloud accidentally consuming half of John Peters’ imaginary corn crop; just the usual shenanigans that effected their little town. Cecil, of course, was on edge through all, but it was all so hopelessly mundane, and he could find no signal or clue in any of it no matter how hard he scrutinised them. He didn’t event pretend to be his usually boisterous self today, and he tried his best to ignore the hooded head that swivelled towards him when he delivered an unexpectedly morose, 

 

“Good morning, listeners.”

 

He felt the figure’s disquiet, maybe even annoyance that he wasn’t his normal, chirpy self, but Cecil was in no mood for the pretense. He managed to force himself to spit the hated news stories, conscious of the fact that as soon as he was finished, he was free to pursue tat which he missed the most. His patience was slowly chipping away, but he bore it. 

 

Somewhat idly, he glanced at the electronic clock face on his monitor to check how long it was until his morning break, almost sagging with relief when he realised that there wasn’t much time left to wait now. Deep inside an inside pocket of today’s waistcoat lay his precious watch from Carlos, which he had somehow managed to avoid handing over to the authorities. Cecil knew how utterly dangerous concealing this treasure could have been for him, as he was ignoring a direct order, but he could not let them take away this only remnant of Carlos in his life. He wondered vaguely why they had not demanded it off him, as he was fairly certain that he had mentioned its existence once or twice in his show, but he was glad they had not torn it from him. He knew that it had been causing people a lot of trouble in the town, handing over their various timepieces, but no one dared question authority. And so people were constantly late to places, and no one could really complain because nobody quite knew what late was anymore. It was rather disconcerting.

 

But luckily Cecil still had his electronic clock, and he did not have long until he could stretch his legs and sip a lukewarm but nourishing cup of coffee. After all, who knew when he would have this luxury again? He might as well enjoy it, and so Cecil tapped his hand on the desk impatiently, counting down the minutes as he waited for the morning’s Weather to complete its trilling tune.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

In the midst of his sleep, Carlos twitched. Somehow, even in his unconscious state, he could tell that something was very, _very_ wrong, and this peculiar feeling leaked into his subconscious like poisonous tendrils, nudging and persuasive. This feeling nagged at him no matter how hard he tried to brush it away, to grasp onto the blissful numbness that he wanted so badly, and eventually curiosity got the better of him and, frowning, he slowly opened his eyes.

 

When he did so, it took all of his self control to suppress the scream that threatened to burst unbidden from his mouth.

 

For, stood unabashedly in front of him, was Kevin, no longer separated a safe distance behind that protective glass wall as he had been for every other visit. His face contained the undeniable glee of somebody who had been allowed an immense treat, and that almost maniacal grin was even more fearsome at this close. He was taller than Carlos had realised, seeming to be the exact same height as Cecil in fact, and at this close proximity their extreme likeness was exemplified. If it wasn’t for those deeply obsidian eyes, for those sharp, crooked teeth, in his tiredness Carlos might have almost been fooled into thinking that Cecil had finally come to save him. But no; the eyes glittered with more blackness than Cecil’s ever could, and the voice was higher, laden with something _other_ than Cecil’s sonorous tone. He opened his mouth in pure delight, and Carlos flinched, realising for the first time that his headset had been somehow removed, and that voice was even more sweetly sinister this directly.

 

 

“Hello, my dear, _dear_ Carlos.” The voice was an even softer purr when heard without the headset, seeming to brush into his ear with eagerness, “How wonderful it is to see you so… _close.”_

 

He was only a mere few feet away, and despite his recent, shameful feelings of almost enjoying his company, Carlos wanted nothing more than to back away. More than ever, he felt how utterly trapped he was, how completely he was at the mercy of this looming man with no hope of ever escaping his eager clutches. Carlos’s eyes were so wide and dilated, his heart beat a vicious tattoo in his chest, and he could only gasp,

 

“H-how-?”

 

The laugh, which should have tinkled but instead fell upon his ears like sharp shards of glass, filled the room with joyous reverberations. Kevin cocked his head as he stared with an almost benevolent look down at Carlos, a possessive gleam visible in his dark eyes,

 

“It seems that my wonderful Managers have decided to have a…rethink.”

 

Slowly, oh so slowly, he padded forwards, his eyes fixed obsessively upon Carlos’s face, his steps deliberately measured. Trying his best to edge away on the chair, Carlos could feel himself beginning to sweat again; the room was once again stiflingly hot, and he could not fathom how the advancing man was able to wear that yellow jumper and still look so pristine. When he was directly in front of him, Kevin leaned down gradually, but he made no movement to actually touch Carlos. He seemed to inhale for some perplexing reason, his collar flashing as he leaned ever so slightly closer, until he then drew back to his original position. His face, still with a slight smile, looked a little troubled.

 

“ After a few, ah, discussions, it seems that they have decided that I am allowed to come in but, I am _still,”_ Hanging stiffly by his sides, his fists clenched and unclenched as his voice took a decidedly icy turn, “Not allowed to touch you.”

 

At this, Carlos barely suppressed a sigh of relief, knowing that if it was too obvious then he might anger the man who already looked like he was teetering on the edge of annoyance. He was unspeakably glad that, despite the fact that Kevin clearly wanted to disobey his orders, he seemed to follow them with unwavering precision, and he could only watch as Kevin remained only that small distance away, hands twitching with undisguised want. Shifting slightly in his chair, Carlos winced as the ropes cut into his wrists with their incessant tightness; after spending a few days in the chair now his limbs felt so tired and cramped that each movement sent shudders of pain throughout his body. He accidentally let out a wince as the rope brushed over a particularly chafed part of his wrist and, seemingly without thinking, Kevin raised a hand towards him in clear concern, as if he desired nothing more than to help. Almost instantly, Carlos froze as the hand moved further into his eyesight.

 

There was blood on Kevin’s arm, a vibrant line of red which splattered his side in little patches and shone in the meagre light of the room. Carlos was not sure why he had not noticed its presence earlier, but then again his attention _had_ been focused on Kevin’s curiously triumphant expression. Oddly enough, the blood looked wet, and through his hazy mind Carlos simply could not fathom why he would possibly be covered in it. Unbidden, his natural concern for living creatures, as well as his scientific based knowledge of injuries, rose in his mind and he could not stop himself from wheezing,

 

“Kevin, y-you’re bleeding!”

 

Frowning, Kevin twisted his body as he tried to follow where Carlos’s gaze had landed upon him, and when he spotted the steady drip of red on his arm and the accompanying stains, his face showed not pain or worry, but irritation. An odd look passed on his face, his eyes darting quickly from the scarlet drops to Carlos’s openly concerned face.

 

“Oh, yes… _I_ am bleeding.” He let out a laugh that was clearly supposed to be self deprecating, but it chilled Carlos’s spine with its hollowness, “ How very, ah, _silly_ of me not to notice. I must have…” He paused for a moment, wiping a few droplets off on his sleeve as he pondered, “Cut myself before I came in. Yes.” 

 

Somehow, despite the clogging heat of the room, the atmosphere seemed to shift almost imperceptibly. Kevin’s lips seemed to curl around the lies that he had told, and although Carlos was too out of sorts to challenge him, he had caught a hint of the lie, even as the words were said so sweetly. This man reeked of danger, but, gradually, Carlos realised something even as his body flowed with disgust. If he could somehow convince Kevin to untie him and pretend that he wanted to touch him also, he shivered at this despicable thought, then maybe…maybe he could overpower him and escape. Although the idea was desperate, ludicrous, it almost seemed that if he gave a little nudge then Kevin would do as he wished. 

 

And so, as the plan became more solid in his mind, with a deliberate delicacy, Carlos ignored his stomach heaving with disgust at the looming man and spoke as pleasantly as he could muster,

 

“That’s terrible. I _wish_ I could help.”

 

For some strange reason, at his words Kevin let out a hearty laugh, resting his unstained hand on one hip as he attempted to conceal his mirth.

 

“Oh, my dear, don’t you worry about that. You will soon enough.”

 

He shook his head, still smiling, as he stood watching him. The laughter did nothing to alleviate Carlos’s fear, and he frowned, 

 

“What do you me-“

 

“Not long now, not long now,” 

 

Kevin repeated the words in a sing-song voice as he resumed walking; Carlos flinched as he approached even closer, trying his best to draw his body away even as he remembered his plan of trying to win Kevin over. Luckily, Kevin did not spot his revulsion, and he did not move right up to Carlos as he had feared, but for some unexplained reason moved to the desk behind him, stopping just behind his chair. Carlos could not twist his body to watch what he was doing, and his heart thumped with a desperate skitter in his chest as he could only wonder at what fresh horror the man was going to inflict upon him. After a few agonising moments in which Carlos could only hear a strange clinking sound as Kevin busied himself with his task, the man slowly reversed back into his view. His body overcome with fear, Carlos looked up at him and was surprised to see that all he held in his hand was an innocent cup of water. The smile was almost kind as Kevin moved it towards his face, the contents glittering slightly in the dull light.

 

“No need to look so frightened, dear. I _told_ you that I only care about you.” He waved the glass in front of him, “Come on now, drink up!”

 

For a second, Carlos hesitated. The thought of being fed by Kevin was so humiliating, but his raging thirst fought against his pride, urging him to think of his health rather than being foolish. As he considered the offer, it seemed that he had lingered a fraction too long, because Kevin’s smile wavered ever so slightly. 

 

“Carlos.” His voice took on that low silkiness that so often hinted at a quiet anger, “If you don’t drink, I shall be _very_ upset.”

 

He could only shrink from the gaze that had in an instant turned so cold, so calculating. Carlos knew very well that he was in no position to argue, and besides, the liquid glittered in such a tantalising way that he simply did not possess the will to refuse it; his parched mouth would not let him. Averting his gaze away from Kevin, he tipped his face upwards and opened his mouth. With delicacy, Kevin poured the water past his lips, careful to not let his hand come into contact with Carlos’s face. The water felt heavenly in his parched mouth, if a little bitter, but he hardly cared as he drunk it down, hating himself for submitting to the other man’s whims. Whilst he did this, although the scientist was determinedly not looking at him, Kevin spoke with a softness which did not even hint at his previous slip into anger.

 

“That’s better. So, you said you would help me.” Still drinking, Carlos brought his gaze back to Kevin, whose face was oddly curious, “How so?” 

 

Carlos mulled the question over in his mind as he finished the last of the water, revelling in the fact that his mouth no longer felt like it was full of hot dust. He would have to be careful, so very careful. 

 

“Well,” With the aid of the liquid, his voice was clearer and this filled him with unexpected confidence, “All I mean is that I’m used to people injuring themselves in the lab, so if you’ve hurt yourself I could….help.”

 

He stumbled over the last word for some reason, and frowned at himself in annoyance; he needed to convince Kevin that he was fully sincere. In front of him, Kevin became motionless, raking his gaze over Carlos’s eyes for a few moments. As the seconds grew longer, Carlos wondered if he had not been subtle enough, but Kevin did not look angry. Instead, he looked contemplative.

 

“So,” He drew out the word with excruciating slowness, “You’re saying, if I untie you, you’ll help me?”

 

With a quickly beating heart, Carlos almost could not bring himself to believe it. The man sounded interested, almost as if he was eager to accept Carlos’s proposal. Feeling a little elated at the potential success, he tried his best to smile, hoping it did not look too much like a grimace.

 

“Yes. It would make it easier for me to talk with you, to- to get to know you better. I mean, you’ve been good to me, so-“

 

“And you won’t try any…funny business?”

 

Carlos tried to laugh then, and immediately wished he didn’t. What he intended to be a cool sort of laugh emerged as a strangled squeak, but for some reason Kevin didn’t seem to mind. He was staring so intently, and it was all Carlos could do to sit up as straight as he could,

 

“No! Of, of _course_ not!” He felt sickened at the lie, but it was necessary and he could not afford to be truthful. Stood placidly in front of him, Kevin cocked his head, squinting, and Carlos’s heart gave a few more loud thumps; he had ruined it, he _knew_ he had ruined it-

 

“Alright. I’ll untie you, just for a second, okay?” Almost gasping with relief, Carlos could only nod fervently, this time his face breaking out into a true smile. Spotting the genuine expression, Kevin returned it, saying softly,

 

“Hold still then, so I won’t accidentally touch you.”

 

This time, Carlos obliged without complaint, allowing his body to go completely motionless, fully aware that as soon as Kevin untied him then he would have only a few seconds to act, to attempt to overpower him. He drew back as much as he could as Kevin leaned over him, untying the complicated knots with surprisingly dextrous fingers. It felt peculiar to have the man so close to him after only being able to see him through a window for so long, and Carlos was unspeakably glad that he wasn’t allowed to touch him, because something inside of him recoiled from this strange person. He knew not why, but there was just something so _wrong_ about him.

 

After a few agonising minutes the bonds on his feet were released, and Carlos heaved a sigh of relief as the constricting ropes left his legs, making them feel more comfortable than they had in days. To force himself to remain still while Kevin worked on the bonds restricting his wrists was one of the hardest tasks of his life, but Carlos bore it, albeit with gritted teeth; it was no use trying to overpower Kevin with only his legs free. 

 

At last, Kevin began to straighten as the last bond was untied and as he saw the body begin to rise next to him, he knew that he had this one chance to act and one chance only. Hardly daring to breathe, and barely registering the daunting fact that he was about to attempt attacking the man who had just helped him, Carlos gave a mighty heave upwards and-

 

Nothing happened. 

 

Panicking, Carlos desperately tried to force his legs to move, to lift from their bent position, but no matter how hard he tried no movement occurred in his limbs whatsoever. Feeling his stomach plummeting down, down, down, he tried to move his hands, but they were traitorous, unyielding to even his most furious attempts. He began to panic at the slow, dreadful realisation that, somehow, he had been paralysed.

 

Even though he had not managed to move, he locked eyes with the man stood beside him and knew immediately that Kevin had seen his attempt at moving and therefore betraying him, and knew he had never intended to keep his promise of keeping still. Even though he could not move a muscle, Carlos still managed to quail beneath Kevin, who leaned over him, his face frighteningly blank.

 

“You lied to me.”

 

The words were stated so simply, so calmly, and this blankness frightened Carlos more completely than anything else the man had ever done. Carlos attempted to shake his head, the minute movement the only thing he could force his paralysed muscles to do, hardly able to move his gaze away. He squeezed out a minuscule sound, a tiny, 

 

“N-no-“

 

“ _You lied to me!”_

 

The words ripped through the room, Kevin’s face was absolutely contorted with rage, and the sudden shift in his appearance made him look, in that moment, inhuman. The collar flashed a warning red, but this time he seemed to ignore it; his breathing heavy as he focused on Carlos who stared up at him with wide, fearful eyes. Carlos was startled to see that a few tears dripped from his obsidian eyes; he didn’t realise a creature such as Kevin _could_ cry. But the tears were undeniable, and he reached out, perhaps desiring nothing more than to throttle Carlos, but instead he changed course scrabbled uselessly at the flickering collar. It seemed somehow to be causing him pain, and after a few moments of his futile tugging it stopped its flashing, and he stopped his grappling, his breathing ragged. Carlos watched all, hardly able to breathe, hardly able to believe that his plan had gone so horribly wrong. When the flashing had completely ceased, Kevin turned his cold gaze upon him once more,

 

“T-there was a paralytic in the water.” 

 

Horrified, Carlos remembered how the seemingly innocent beverage had tasted more bitter than usual and he cursed himself for not realising his idiotic mistake sooner, but he hardly had time to do so as Kevin’s body shook with renewed sobs, 

 

“I-I didn’t want to do it, but they told me to. And they were _right!”_  

 

He screeched the last part, an unearthly sound which threatened to pierce his eardrums. In his destructive anger, Kevin had managed to spread the blood further upon his vibrant yellow jumper, the smeared patches of red practically burning in the meagre light. Kevin’s chest _heaved_ as he took large gulps of breath; he seemed to be trying to regain some semblance of control over himself as Carlos watched, wondering if he had fully ruined any chance of escape. Still with rather erratic breathing, he prowled closer to Carlos, his teeth bared in a sickening grimace.

 

Carlos, knowing now that he had sealed his doom, did the only thing he could; he closed his eyes, and waited for the blows that would surely come. But, as he waited, all he felt was the renewed tightening of the cords on his limbs, as even through his paralysis he could feel Kevin making them even tighter than they had been previously. The time, however, there was no delicacy in his actions. He worked roughly, hardly caring that the renewed bonds pressed upon Carlos’s already rubbed raw wrists; he was immune to Carlos’s huffs of agony as he worked quickly, ever the efficient worker. He soon straightened, regarding the slumped figure of Carlos with distaste, his anger replace with what could only be described as a maniacal grin.

 

“Goodbye for now, Carlos.” He began to walk away, ignoring the whimper that slipped out of Carlos’s lips, “I’ve got to go and inform Management of this new…development.” He rolled the word around in his mouth, as if tasting the threat, “Don’t worry though; it’ll be over soon.” 

 

Carlos tried to heave on the chair, but to no avail; he was trapped even worse than he had been before. Kevin had reached the door leading out of the booth by now, and he twisted to face Carlos one last time. For a second, his expression wavered, twisting into pain again.

 

“Things could have been…different, Carlos. So very different.” 

 

He turned away without another glance, and the slam of the door was the last sound Carlos heard for a long while.

 

 

 

***

 

 

Exasperatingly, Josie had found it almost impossible to impress upon her angels the absolute necessity of her being captured without them. But alas, no matter how thorough she was in her explanations that she needed them to stay behind in case she required outside help to escape or for them to aid Cecil, they still enclosed her in a concerned, keening mass. 

 

“I will be _fine_ , my Erikas, just _fine!”_ She said crossly, “ I am made of stronger stuff than they understand, than _you_ all seem to understand.”

 

But, despite her assurances, their reluctance to let her leave without them was palpable, and they would simply not move from the circle that they had made around her. Although it was somewhat difficult to fathom exactly what the angels understood or thought about, it was obvious that they appreciated the kindness that Josie had shown them. This could be seen by their shifting from tall, ominous beings to the helpful and familiar friends that she had let into her home, and through that her heart. She understood this well, and although she did not want to part from them herself, she would never be able to forgive herself if they were captured and taken away from her forever.

 

“Erikas, _please.”_ Her voice, commanding in its loudnesses, caused their concerned squeaks to cease, “I need you _here,_ in Night Vale. If you come with me, I can only imagine what horrors they will subject you to, what _experiments_ they would want to perform. I couldn’t stand it.”

 

The angels had leaned in as she spoke her impassioned words, exchanging soundless looks as she finished, looks which were laced with a meaning that she did not understand. After a moment of this silent communication, the ring of angels drew back save for one; it was Mechanic Erika, the angel with the beautiful, dark skin. He stood before her, his three pale eyes utterly unreadable as he pointed a finger at himself, and then to her. At the gesture, despite trying to maintain her self control Josie could not prevent a single, solitary tear from dripping down her cheek.

 

“You would do that, for me?”

 

The angel opened its mouth, but of course it could not speak. Instead, it put its teeth together in the rough semblance of a smile, and although the smile of an angel could be terrible to behold, Josie returned it in full. She proffered a hand, and the angel took it, humming a light tune as they began walking through the comfortable living room, edging their way past the elaborate furniture. Josie stopped for a moment as she brought her mobile phone out of a concealed pocket, carefully typing a text aimed for Cecil’s phone, knowing full well that her mobile was now definitely being tracked, and that any text or call would alert the authorities immediately. The text was thoroughly worded so that whoever read it would be convinced that Josie was preparing to meet Cecil at the Dog Park again, but Josie gave a wry smile as she typed, knowing that this was far from the truth. It wouldn’t help much, but it might buy Cecil a little time. Still with the phone in hand, she resumed walking through the room, angel on hand.

 

The other, soon to be abandoned angels threw her mournful stares as Josie passed them, but, ignoring the silent pleas, she gave them a jaunty sort of wave.

 

“Look after them, you hear? I shall be back soon, if all goes well.”

 

There were a few sad hoots audible even as she moved through the door and into the hallway, filled with more than a little regret. But, it couldn’t be helped, and she strode with purpose through her familiar and lovely house, the reassuring weight of the angel’s arm on her own. She could barely find the words to speak her gratitude and, just before they opened the door to the street, she looked upwards at that dark, mysterious face.

 

“After all this time?”

 

The angel blinked at her then, long, deliberate blinks, and Josie let out a breath that she wasn’t even aware that she had been holding; it clearly didn’t understand what she meant. She gave him a soft, wry smile.

 

“Never mind, Mechanic Erika. Let’s not tarry; there is work to be done.”

 

As they prepared to step out of the door, Josie clicked the send button and closed her eyes, preparing herself for the telltale whirr of those yellow helicopters that would arrive as inevitably as the wind. 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Palms sweating, Cecil nervously arranged the papers in front of him as the advertisement from one of the the day’s sponsors trundled its cheerful pre-recorded message. He hated that he was showing signs of agitation, but soon it would be time for his break, and he was finally prepared to make his desperate attempt at escape, or at least to rescuing Carlos. Out of the corner of his eye he could just about see a hooded figure sat with him in the booth, flicking through a local newspaper with an obviously bored air. He was glad that they had not noticed his nervousness, as he needed to ensure that he could slip out of the building undetected. Slowly, the recording petered out, and Cecil drew himself upwards in preparation to resume his speaking, but his movements were interrupted by a furious knocking on his door.

 

With an immediacy that made Cecil jump, the hooded figure shot up from its slumped position and stared at the door, behind which stood an intern who looked, for some reason, absolutely terrified. Impatiently, the hooded figure waved a hand at the intern in indication that they should enter the room and be done with it, and before Cecil could even ask what was going on the door was shoved open unceremoniously and the frightened girl scuttled in. She cast a worried gaze at the ‘on air’ sign which glowed with vibrance on the soundboard, and cast an even more horrified look at Cecil. Electing to ignore this, he tried to smile in what he hoped was a kind and gentle way. Evidently, he was not successful as the quivering girl’s eyes widened and she took a step ever so slightly away from him, back towards the door. Her eyes darted once again to the glowing sign, and she whispered in a quietly quavering voice,

 

“I-I’ve been told to bring you this news, Mr Palmer.”

 

He gritted his teeth at the use of his last name; he was usually so familiar with all of the interns, known to them as plain old Cecil. It hurt to have her speak to him so formally, but he could only stretch out a hand to receive the papers which she clutched so fearfully. She handed them over, careful not to come into contact with Cecil, and backed away as quickly as she could manage, squeaking as the hooded figure watched her progress with an intent gaze. When the door had clicked softly behind her, the hooded figure brought its full, unwavering attention onto Cecil, as he had not begun to read the missive. Shaking himself, Cecil drew up to the microphone, his quick eyes scanning the freshly printed sheet. 

 

“I am _so sorry_ for the delay, my faithful listeners. It seems that one of my interns,” He struggled for a name, shocked that her’s had slipped his mind; he really was a stranger to the station now. “Has just blessed me with some hot-from-the-press news. Shall we divulge in it together, hmm?”

 

He could not help it, his hands shook slightly as he attempted to focus on the words, to read them without reacting. Years of experience had taught him to scan documents quickly in order to ascertain exactly how he should react, but even he could not prevent the gasp of equal surprise and horror from bursting out of his mouth as his eyes brushed over the words.

 

“Oh _listeners_ , stars above, it seems…it seems that,” He closed his eyes for a moment, utterly refusing to believe the traitorous words, “Our most faithful citizen, Old Woman Josie, has been detained for what has been described here as ‘criminal activity’.” He stumbled over the words, practically spitting them out,  “There is no explanation for what she did other than…dangerous. So dangerous.” 

 

Behind his wobbling voice, his mind whirred and whirred with a furiousness which startled him. This must be it, this must be the sign. But, he could make no sense of it; she had been arrested, but what did that mean? He wondered briefly if her intention was that wherever she was taken Carlos would be there also, but that didn’t make much sense; he could not follow her any easier than he could have followed Carlos. He frowned, feeling a slight pain in his head, as he put the first paper behind the other and resumed reading,

 

“Actually, we do have a little more information,” His voice quickened despite himself, his eagerness palpable, “Apparently Josie, as she was dragged screaming through the streets shouted, ‘The lights! Turn out the lights!’, before her and the accompanying criminal partner, an angel, were taken to be prosecuted.”

 

He paused for a brief moment, his heart beating fit to burst in his chest. Finally, and just before he had given up on her, shameful as that was to admit, it seemed that Josie’s long awaited sign had arrived. But, he could make absolutely no sense of it; her last, shouted words seemed merely vague to him. There was no flash of inspiration, no sense of complete understanding, and the full force of his disappointment washed over him with a ferocity that was akin to anger. He needed to leave, and to leave now, to work out what she had said, but he knew not to where. It seemed Cecil had waited for a fraction too long, as the hooded figure turned its indomitable gaze upon him. Flustered, he spoke without thinking,

 

“Well, what interesting words, listeners! I can only wonder at what she was trying to say. I mean, the only lights we have here at the station are the…the…” His words faltered he hardly dared to believe the idea that flashed in his mind, “…the light bulbs.” 

 

For, the light bulb that the angel had touched filled his mind, allowing no other thoughts to blossom.

 

Understanding flooded into him like ice, a vast certainty that this tenuous link to Josie was what she had sacrificed herself to remind him of. Inwardly, he cursed himself for being so obvious on air, as the hooded figure had frozen, a dark statue rooted to its chair; in that instant, he knew that it knew he had understood Josie’s words. Cecil knew he had to act fast; he had to leave now and hope that he could outrun this hooded figure and any others that were probably preparing to storm the radio booth to stop him from escaping, as surely they had suspected that this had been his plan all along. 

 

Gulping slightly, he brought his attention back to the microphone, speaking slowly and deliberately, 

 

“Once again, I am sorry, listeners. I admit that I was a little distracted by something. It is no matter.” With a careful movement, he brought his hand to the headphones that rested upon his ears in preparation to rip them off. When he was free of them, he could attempt to bypass the hooded figure and run onwards down the corridor towards the light, towards victory. He was not entirely certain what he had to do when he got there, but he had faith that all would be clear once he was underneath its reassuring glow. He took a deep breath, mentally and physically preparing himself,

 

“Also regrettably, I must announce a short break.” With a loud bang, the restricting headphones hit the soundboard as he threw them off, rising from his chair as he shouted in a bellowing voice,  “Goodnight, Night Vale! Goodnight!”

 

Cecil practically threw himself across the room as haste inflected every footstep, every movement of his. Looking momentarily dumbfounded, the hooded figure leapt from its perch and followed chase, but Cecil’s unexpected actions meant that he was ahead by a few precious seconds, and he did not waste them as he pounded down the corridors, heedless of the frightened faces which peeked out of doors as they surveyed his passing. He ran and he ran, the footsteps a cacophony of noise in the corridor as he made his way onwards, his breathing ragged as he fought against a burning stitch in his side. Without even thinking about what he was doing, he snatched an abandoned broom which was propped up against a wall, perhaps hoping he could use it as a makeshift weapon if that unhappy occasion occurred. Broom in hand, he gave a desperate caw of triumph as the telltale glow of the light bulb appeared at the middle of the corridor in front of him. 

 

But, dispelling his joy, at the end of the corridor Cecil could clearly see dark figures advancing, a menacing line that he knew existed only to detain him. He was blessedly closer to the light bulb than they, and after a few quick strides he was almost underneath the pure, white glow. Holding his breath, the leapt underneath it and closed his eyes, waiting.

 

Nothing happened.

 

 

He cracked an eye open, his mind flooding with worry. Why was nothing happening? Closer and closer the dark figures writhed towards him, and he knew it was only a matter of time until they would grab him and haul him away, doubtlessly to be re-educated with no chance of escape. He could not help it; he was beginning to panic fully as the realisation dawned on him that he was now trapped worse than ever before. Still reluctant to go without a fight, he lifted the broom in a futile defence, and, as it arched through the air he finally understood with a sudden and unexpected burst of clarity what it was he was supposed to do. 

 

The idea was ridiculous, utterly preposterous, and he threw a mad grin at the advancing figures. With a strong grip, he swung the broom and hit the glowing light bulb with all of his might, ducking his head away from the inevitable falling shards. 

 

The light bulb shattered like a small constellation; glowing shards of glass cascaded through the air, peppering Cecil’s clothes with their brightness. The advancing figures cringed away from the luminescent cloud surrounding Cecil, and he could not see anything, he was blind to everything other than that piercing, white light-

 

Cecil swore he could feel arms surrounding him, soft and intangible as air, and he gave a gasp as he felt his body wrench from the corridor; to where, he knew not.

 

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: This story has NOT been abandoned. I've been horrifyingly busy, and my well of inspiration kind of ran dry due to the canon proving much more interesting than what I had planned. However, I will finish this. Somehow, it will have an ending. I am so sorry, and I will try and do the next chapter sometime!
> 
> Newer Note: Yep, sorry, I'm not sure if I will finish this after all. Thanks for reading anyway, I will decide what to do with this fic.


End file.
